“Laughter was a balm. It held panic at bay and it seemed to come easily. In those extreme circumstances it became unbearably funny just to act normal. If they could still laugh, they were all right.”
″‘A demon can get into real trouble, doing the right thing.’ He nudged the angel. ‘Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?‘”
“It has been a dream of being able to grow to fullest development as a man and woman, unhampered by the barriers which had slowly been erected in the older civilizations, unrepressed by social orders which had developed for the benefit of classes rather than for the simple human being of any and every class.”
“I had a dream about you. We were fishing in the Utah desert. You caught a dinosaur, but due to Federal regulations, we had to release the bones so Ted Kennedy could drive back to the cemetery, drunk. ”
What is it that makes Australian YA so special – hilariously funny and sad at the same time – but just so wonderful and capturing? It’s not that I’ve read heaps of Australian books, but the tendency can’t be denied.
Funny, tough-minded and tender, this is the story of Matilda and her two sisters growing up in Sydney, Australia, in the early 1950s. Their father is mentally unstable and largely absent, their mother is possibly in the thrall of his brother, and a headline-making Russian spy defection is taking place next door.
The art is bewitching, and the story is both funny and full of heart. A winner for the whole family, because yes, irl babies do crawl away (though generally not so far) and older siblings are heroes.
Bridget’s attempts to cope with these unruly guests actually hint in an exaggerated way at what real siblings might be like. The book is fun; it’s funny; it makes a delightful treat. Very nice for a little reader with a taste for unruly humor
“She’s pretty, but her face doesn’t transform into sunlight when she talks about music.” He did that clench thing with his jaw and said, “She’s funny, but not spit-out-your-drink-in-astonishment funny.” It felt like my heart was going to explode as his eyes moved down to my lips under the glow of the buzzing streetlight. He moved his face a little closer to mine, looked into my eyes, and rumbled, “And when I see her, I don’t feel like I have to talk to her or mess up her hair or do something—anything—to get her to swing that gaze on me.”
“And so he went back over the sunny hills and down through the cool valleys, to show all his pretty kittens to the very old woman. It was very funny to see those hundreds and thousands and millions and billions and trillions of cats following him.”
″ ‘But there are other kinds of eggs. There are sunny-side-up and sunny-side-down eggs.’ ‘Yes’, said Frances. ‘But sunny-side-up eggs lie on the plate and look up at you in a funny way. And sunny-side-down eggs just lie on their stomachs and wait’. ”
“I have a little doll, I take care of her clothes;
She has soft flaxen hair, and her name is Rose.
She has pretty blue eyes, and a very small nose,
And a funny little mouth, and her name is Rose.”
“That’s how the three of us were. If one of us did something that was funny, the other two had to come up with something too. Three copycats. It wasn’t exactly that we had to show off so much as that we wanted to entertain each other. We wanted to show equally how much we were thankful for each other’s company.”
It is a great bedtime read and funny at certain parts and sad and touching at others. The story moves very fast so try to savor those arguments because they mean so much.
“For she was seeing the peacocks through a great, barred gate, with a funny little boy in a sailor suit and a wide-brimmed hat, whose wistful eyes looked sadly out between his odd tufts of red hair.”
“It is funny that my trip has ended by being such a fast trip around the world. I find myself referred to now as one of the speediest travelers of all times. Speed wasn’t at all what I had in mind when I started out. On the contrary, if all had gone the way I had hoped, I would still be happily floating around in my balloon, drifting anywhere the wind cared to carry me- East, West, North, or South.”
“There was a funny sort of humming noise, and the carpet rolled itself up and turned into a bicycle. Mr Majeika leant cheerily against the handlebars and rang the bicycle bell. ‘NIce bike, isn’t it?’ he said, smiling at Mr Potter.”
″ ‘I know a number of funy things,’ says th lady. ‘I have been at some people’s christenings, and turned away from other folks’ doors. I have seen some people spoilt by good fortune, and others, as I hope, improved by hardship. I advise you to stay at the town where the coach stops for the night. Stay there and study, and remember your old friend to whom you were kind.′ ”
Roo was washing his face and paws in the stream, while Kanga explained to everybody proudly that this was the first time he had ever washed his face himself, and Owl was telling Kanga an Interesting Anecdote full of long words like Encyclopædia and Rhododendron to which Kanga wasn’t listening.
“What I did was nothing. Any of you—except Rabbit and Owl and Kanga—would have done the same. Oh, and Pooh. My remarks do not, of course, apply to Piglet and Roo, because they are too small. Any of you would have done the same.”
Pooh Bear stretched out a paw, and Rabbit pulled and pulled and pulled....
“Ow!” cried Pooh. “You’re hurting!”
“The fact is,” said Rabbit, “you’re stuck.”
“It all comes,” said Pooh crossly, “of not having front doors big enough.”
“It all comes,” said Rabbit sternly, “of eating too much. I thought at the time,” said Rabbit, “only I didn’t like to say anything,” said Rabbit, “that one of us was eating too much,” said Rabbit, “and I knew it wasn’t me,” he said.
“It’s—I wondered—It’s only—Rabbit, I suppose you don’t know, What does the North Pole look like?”
“Well,” said Rabbit, stroking his whiskers. “Now you’re asking me.”
“I did know once, only I’ve sort of forgotten,” said Christopher Robin carelessly.
“It’s a funny thing,” said Rabbit, “but I’ve sort of forgotten too, although I did know once.”
“I suppose it’s just a pole stuck in the ground?”
“Sure to be a pole,” said Rabbit, “because of calling it a pole, and if it’s a pole, well, I should think it would be sticking in the ground, shouldn’t you, because there’d be nowhere else to stick it.”
Suddenly Winnie-the-Pooh stopped, and pointed excitedly in front of him. “Look!”
“What?” said Piglet, with a jump. And then, to show that he hadn’t been frightened, he jumped up and down once or twice more in an exercising sort of way.
“I say, old fellow, you’re taking up a good deal of room in my house—do you mind if I use your back legs as a towel-horse? Because, I mean, there they are—doing nothing—and it would be very convenient just to hang the towels on them.”
“After all, one can’t complain. I have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday. And was it last week or the week before that Rabbit bumped into me and said ‘Bother!’ The Social Round. Always something going on.”
It was a warm day, and he had a long way to go. He hadn’t gone more than half-way when a sort of funny feeling began to creep all over him. It began at the tip of his nose and trickled all through him and out at the soles of his feet. It was just as if somebody inside him were saying, “Now then, Pooh, time for a little something.”
“Well, Tommy,” he said, “I wish you and yours every joy in life, old chap, and tons of money, and may you never die till I shoot you. And that’s the wish of a sincere friend, an old friend. You know that?”
“Do Tiggers like honey?”
“They like everything,” said Tigger cheerfully.
“Then if they like going to sleep on the floor, I’ll go back to bed,” said Pooh, “and we’ll do things in the morning. Good night.”
And as soon as they sat down, Tigger took a large mouthful of honey ... and he looked up at the ceiling with his head on one side, and made exploring noises with his tongue and considering noises, and what-have-we-got-here noises ... and then he said in a very decided voice:
“Tiggers don’t like honey.”
Eeyore walked all round Tigger one way, and then turned and walked all round him the other way.
“What did you say it was?” he asked.
“Tigger.”
“Ah!” said Eeyore.
“He’s just come,” explained Piglet.
“Ah!” said Eeyore again.
He thought for a long time and then said:
“When is he going?”
“Did I fall on you, Piglet?”
“You fell on me,” said Piglet, feeling himself all over.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Pooh sorrowfully.
“I didn’t mean to be underneath,” said Piglet sadly.
“Oh, there you are, Tigger!” said Christopher Robin. “I knew you’d be somewhere.”
“I’ve been finding things in the Forest,” said Tigger importantly. “I’ve found a pooh and a piglet and an eeyore, but I can’t find any breakfast.”
Small’s real name was Very Small Beetle, but he was called Small for short, when he was spoken to at all, which hardly ever happened except when somebody said: “Really, Small!”
When Piglet had finished jumping, he wiped his paws on his front, and said, “What shall we do now?” and Pooh said, “Let’s go and see Kanga and Roo and Tigger,” and Piglet said, “Y-yes. L-lets”—because he was still a little anxious about Tigger, who was a Very Bouncy Animal, with a way of saying How-do-you-do, which always left your ears full of sand, even after Kanga had said, “Gently, Tigger dear,” and had helped you up again.
“I’m telling you. People come and go in this Forest, and they say, ‘It’s only Eeyore, so it doesn’t count.’ They walk to and fro saying ‘Ha ha!’ But do they know anything about A? They don’t. It’s just three sticks to them. But to the Educated—mark this, little Piglet—to the Educated, not meaning Poohs and Piglets, it’s a great and glorious A. Not,” he added, “just something that anybody can come and breathe on.”
He came to Owl’s door, and he knocked and he rang, and he rang and he knocked, and at last Owl’s head came out and said “Go away, I’m thinking—oh it’s you?” which was how he always began.
“Amazing,” said Owl, looking at the notice again, and getting, just for a moment, a curious sort of feeling that something had happened to Christopher Robin’s back. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“The best thing,” said Owl wisely.
“Can they fly?” asked Roo.
“Yes,” said Tigger, “they’re very good flyers, Tiggers are. Stornry good flyers.”
“Oo!” said Roo. “Can they fly as well as Owl?”
“Yes,” said Tigger. “Only they don’t want to.”
“Is it a very Grand thing to be an Afternoon, what you said?”
“A what?” said Christopher Robin lazily, as he listened to something else.
“On a horse,” explained Pooh.
“A Knight?”
“Oh, was that it?” said Pooh. “I thought it was a——Is it as Grand as a King and Factors and all the other things you said?”
“Well, it’s not as grand as a King,” said Christopher Robin, and then, as Pooh seemed disappointed, he added quickly, “but it’s grander than Factors.”
“Could a Bear be one?”
“Of course he could!” said Christopher Robin. “I’ll make you one.” And he took a stick and touched Pooh on the shoulder, and said, “Rise, Sir Pooh de Bear, most faithful of all my Knights.”
“Are you often like this at breakfast?”
“Almost invariably. Said he with his mouth full. Exit W. Beverley, L.”
“It’s a touch of the sun, I suppose,” said Bill, shaking his head sadly.
“It’s the sun and the moon and the stars, all acting together on an empty stomach.”
“Why is that fence useful, my dear Holmes?” said Bill obediently.
“Because you can take a bearing on it. You see—”
“Yes, you needn’t stop to explain to me what a bearing is.”
“And there, I almost forgot to remark, will the taller eagle, Beverley by name, do his famous diving act. As performed nightly at the Hippodrome.”
Bill looked at him uneasily.
“I say, really? It’s beastly dirty water, you know.”
“I feel that if I threw you a sardine,” said Antony, with a smile, “you’d catch it in your mouth quite prettily.”
“It’s awfully easy to be funny from where you are. How much longer have I got to go on doing this?”
Antony looked at his watch.
“About three hours. We must get back before daylight. But be quicker if you can, because it’s rather cold for me sitting here.”
Bill flicked a handful of water at him and disappeared again.
And of course he’s listening to her like a perfect ninny. I never saw such an infatuated man. The more she talks and the odder the things she says, the more he’s delighted evidently.
“You are the very wickedest girl I ever heard of.”
“Yes, I suppose I am,” agreed Anne tranquilly. “And I know I’ll have to be punished. It’ll be your duty to punish me, Marilla. Won’t you please get it over right off because I’d like to go to the picnic with nothing on my mind.”
“Oh, Marilla, please, please, let me go to the picnic. Think of the ice cream! For anything you know I may never have a chance to taste ice cream again.”
“He’s aw’fly handsome, Anne. And he teases the girls something terrible. He just torments our lives out.”
Diana’s voice indicated that she rather liked having her life tormented out than not.
Charlie Sloane’s slate pencil, gorgeously bedizened with striped red and yellow paper, costing two cents where ordinary pencils cost only one, which he sent up to her after dinner hour, met with a more favorable reception. Anne was graciously pleased to accept it and rewarded the donor with a smile which exalted that infatuated youth straightway into the seventh heaven of delight and caused him to make such fearful errors in his dictation that Mr. Phillips kept him in after school to rewrite it.
Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental. She puts too much lovemaking into her stories and you know too much is worse than too little. Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so silly when she had to read it out loud. Jane’s stories are extremely sensible. Then Diana puts too many murders into hers. She says most of the time she doesn’t know what to do with the people so she kills them off to get rid of them.
Amy’ s lecture did Laurie good, though, of course, he did not own it till long afterward. Men seldom do, for when women are the advisers, the lords of creation don’t take the advice till they have persuaded themselves that it is just what they intended to do. Then they act upon it, and, if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel half the credit of it. If it fails, they generously give her the whole.
“Thou shouldst save some for the little friend. Sweets to the sweet, mannling,” and Mr. Bhaer offered Jo some, with a look that made her wonder if chocolate was not the nectar drunk by the gods.