Enid Blyton
Enid Blyton
Enid Mary Blytonwas an English children's writer whose books have been among the world's best-sellers since the 1930s, selling more than 600 million copies. Blyton's books are still enormously popular, and have been translated into almost 90 languages; her first book, Child Whispers, a 24-page collection of poems, was published in 1922. She wrote on a wide range of topics including education, natural history, fantasy, mystery, and biblical narratives and is best remembered today for her Noddy, Famous Five, Secret...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionChildren's Author
Date of Birth11 August 1897
CityLondon, England
I think people make their own faces, as they grow.
You are honest enough by nature to be able to see and judge your own self clearly - and that is a great thing. Never lose that honesty, Bobby - always be honest with yourself, know your own motives for what they are, good or bad, make your own decisions firmly and justly - and you will be a fine, strong character, of some real use in this muddled world of ours!
I'm good at exploring roofs. You never know when that kind of thing comes in useful.
Soon they were all sitting on the rocky ledge, which was still warm, watching the sun go down into the lake. It was the most beautiful evening, with the lake as blue as a cornflower and the sky flecked with rosy clouds. They held their hard-boiled eggs in one hand and a piece of bread and butter in the other, munching happily. There was a dish of salt for everyone to dip their eggs into. ‘I don’t know why, but the meals we have on picnics always taste so much nicer than the ones we have indoors,’ said George.
I have written, probably, more books for children than any other writer, from story-books to plays, and can claim to know more about interesting children than most.
I do love the beginning of the summer hols,' said Julian. They always seem to stretch out ahead for ages and ages.' 'They go so nice and slowly at first,' said Anne, his little sister. 'Then they start to gallop.
The little island seemed to float on the dark lake-waters. Trees grew on it, and a little hill rose in the middle of it. It was a mysterious island, lonely and beautiful. All the children stood and gazed at it, loving it and longing to go to it. It looked so secret - almost magic. “Well,” said Jack at last. “What do you think? Shall we run away, and live on the secret island?” “Yes!” whispered all the children. “Let’s!
It wasn't a bit of good fighting grown-ups. They could do exactly as they liked.
I wonder where you got that idea from? I mean, the idea that it's feeble to change your mind once it's made up. That's a wrong idea, you know. Make up your mind about things, by all means - but if something happens to show that you are wrong, then it is feeble not to change your mind, Elizabeth. Only the strongest people have the pluck to change their minds, and say so, if they see they have been wrong in their ideas.
Mothers were much too sharp. They were like dogs. Buster always sensed when anything was out of the ordinary, and so did mothers. Mothers and dogs both had a kind of second sight that made them see into people's minds and know when anything unusual was going on.
If you can't look after something in your care, you have no right to keep it.
Hatred is so much easier to win than love - and so much harder to get rid of.
The secret island had looked mysterious enough on the night they had seen it before - but now, swimming in the hot June haze, it seemed more enchanting than ever. As they drew near to it, and saw the willow trees that bent over the water-edge and heard the sharp call of moorhens that scuttled off, the children gazed in delight. Nothing but trees and birds and little wild animals. Oh, what a secret island, all for their very own, to live on and play on.
You're trying to escape from your difficulties, and there never is any escape from difficulties, never. They have to be faced and fought.