A. A. Milne
A. A. Milne
Alan Alexander "A. A." Milnewas an English author, best known for his books about the teddy bear Winnie-the-Pooh and for various poems. Milne was a noted writer, primarily as a playwright, before the huge success of Pooh overshadowed all his previous work. Milne served in both World Wars, joining the British Army in World War I, and was a captain of the British Home Guard in World War II...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionChildren's Author
Date of Birth18 January 1882
CityHampstead, England
Christopher Robin was home by this time, because it was the afternoon, and he was so glad to see them that they stayed there until very nearly tea-time, and then they had a Very Nearly tea, which is one you forget about afterwards, and hurried on to Pooh Corner, so as to see Eeyore before it was too late to have a Proper Tea with Owl.
Now then, Pooh," said Christopher Robin, "where's your boat?" "I ought to say," explained Pooh as they walked down to the shore of the island, "that it isn't just an ordinary sort of boat. Sometimes it's a Boat, and sometimes it's more of an Accident. It all depends." "Depends on what?" "On whether I'm on the top of it or underneath it.
Organizing is what you do before you do something, so that when you do it, it is not all mixed up.
The Old Testament is responsible for more atheism, agnosticism, disbelief - call it what you will - than any book ever written; it has emptied more churches than all the counterattractions of cinema, motor bicycle and golf course.
There's the South Pole, said Christopher Robin, and I expect there's an East Pole and a West Pole, though people don't like talking about them.
But [Pooh] couldn't sleep. The more he tried to sleep the more he couldn't. He tried counting Sheep, which is sometimes a good way of getting to sleep, and, as that was no good, he tried counting Heffalumps. And that was worse. Because every Heffalump that he counted was making straight for a pot of Pooh's honey, and eating it all. For some minutes he lay there miserably, but when the five hundred and eighty-seventh Heffalump was licking its jaws, and saying to itself, "Very good honey this, I don't know when I've tasted better," Pooh could bear it no longer.
Piglet: "How do you spell 'love'?" Winnie the Pooh: "You don't spell it...you feel it."
I knew when I met you an adventure was going to happen.
I just wanted to be sure of you.
WHERE did you say it was?' asked Pooh. Just here,' said Eeyore. Made of sticks?' Yes' Oh!' said Piglet. What?' said Eeyore. I just said "Oh!"' said Piglet nervously. And so as to seem quite at ease he hummed Tiddely-pom once or twice in a what-shall-we-do-now kind of way.
Hallo, Eeyore." "Same to you, Pooh Bear, and twice on Thursdays," said Eeyore gloomily. Before Pooh could say: 'Why Thursdays?' Christopher Robin began to explain the sad story of Eeyore's lost house.
In a very little time they got to the corner of the field by the side of the pine wood where Eeyore's house wasn't any longer. 'There!' said Eeyore. 'Not a stick of it left! Of course, I've still got all this snow to do what I like with. One mustn't complain.
It is hard to be brave, when you're only a Very Small Animal.
It is a terrible thing for an author to have a lot of people running about his book without any invitation from him at all.