A slavish concern for the composition of words is the sign of a bankrupt intellect. Be gone, odious wasp! You smell of decayed syllables.

Is everyone with one face called a Milo?””Oh no,” Milo replied; “some are called Henry or George or Robert or John or lots of other things.””How terribly confusing,” he cried. “Everything here is called exactly...

…it’s just as bad to live in a place where what you do see isn’t there as it is to live in one where what you don’t see is.

I think really good books can be read by anybody.

Would it be possible for me to see something from up there?” asked Milo politely.”You could,” said Alec, “but only if you try very hard to look at things as an adult does.”Milo tried as...

Expect everything so that nothing comes unexpected.