Owl Quotes

“Owl,” said Rabbit shortly, “You and I have brains. The others have fluff. If there is any thinking to be done in this Forest—and when I say thinking, I mean thinking—you and I must do it.”

“Owl looked at him, and wondered whether to push him off the tree; but, feeling that he could always do it afterwards, he tried once more to find out what they were talking about.”

“A friend is like an owl, both beautiful and wise. Or perhaps a friend is like a ghost, whose spirit never dies ”

“Where are you going to, little brown mouse?”

“On went the mouse through the deep dark wood. An owl saw the mouse and the mouse looked good.

“The Owl swooped over the mountain, The Owl swooped over the mountain, The Owl swooped over the mountain, To see where Wolf could be. On the other side of the mountain, The other side of the mountain, The other side of the mountain, They had a Jamboree! YIPPEE! ”

“As the monkey was crashing through the treetops, he happened to land on a dead limb. It broke and fell on an owl’s nest, killing one of the owlets.”

Owl hasn’t exactly got Brain, but he Knows Things.

“The atmospheric conditions have been very unfavourable lately,” said Owl.

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.

Everybody was doing something to help. Piglet, wide awake suddenly, was jumping up and down and making “Oo, I say” noises; Owl was explaining that in a case of Sudden and Temporary Immersion the Important Thing was to keep the Head Above Water; Kanga was jumping along the bank, saying “Are you sure you’re all right, Roo dear?” to which Roo, from whatever pool he was in at the moment, was answering “Look at me swimming!”

“It’s a Missage,” he said to himself, “that’s what it is. And that letter is a ‘P,’ and so is that, and so is that, and ‘P’ means ‘Pooh,’ so it’s a very important Missage to me, and I can’t read it. I must find Christopher Robin or Owl or Piglet, one of those Clever Readers who can read things, and they will tell me what this missage means. Only I can’t swim. Bother!”

In after-years he liked to think that he had been in Very Great Danger during the Terrible Flood, but the only danger he had really been in was in the last half-hour of his imprisonment, when Owl, who had just flown up, sat on a branch of his tree to comfort him, and told him a very long story about an aunt who had once laid a seagull’s egg by mistake, and the story went on and on, rather like this sentence, until Piglet who was listening out of his window without much hope, went to sleep quietly and naturally, slipping slowly out of the window towards the water until he was only hanging on by his toes, at which moment luckily, a sudden loud squawk from Owl, which was really part of the story, being what his aunt said, woke the Piglet up and just gave him time to jerk himself back into safety and say, “How interesting, and did she?” when—well, you can imagine his joy when at last he saw the good ship, Brain of Pooh (Captain, C. Robin; 1st Mate, P. Bear) coming over the sea to rescue him.

Owl tried to think of something very wise to say, but couldn’t, so he flew off to tell the others.

“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.”

Owl lived at The Chestnuts, an old-world residence of great charm, which was grander than anybody else’s, or seemed so to Bear, because it had both a knocker and a bell-pull.

These notices had been written by Christopher Robin, who was the only one in the forest who could spell; for Owl, wise though he was in many ways, able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTEREDTOAST.

They had come to a stream which twisted and tumbled between high rocky banks, and Christopher Robin saw at once how dangerous it was. “It’s just the place,” he explained, “for an Ambush.” “What sort of bush?” whispered Pooh to Piglet. “A gorse-bush?” “My dear Pooh,” said Owl in his superior way, “don’t you know what an Ambush is?” “Owl,” said Piglet, looking round at him severely, “Pooh’s whisper was a perfectly private whisper, and there was no need——” “An Ambush,” said Owl, “is a sort of Surprise.” “So is a gorse-bush sometimes,” said Pooh. “An Ambush, as I was about to explain to Pooh,” said Piglet, “is a sort of Surprise.” “If people jump out at you suddenly, that’s an Ambush,” said Owl. “It’s an Ambush, Pooh, when people jump at you suddenly,” explained Piglet. Pooh, who now knew what an Ambush was, said that a gorse-bush had sprung at him suddenly one day when he fell off a tree, and he had taken six days to get all the prickles out of himself. “We are not talking about gorse-bushes,” said Owl a little crossly. “I am,” said Pooh.

Well, he washed the pot out, and dried it, while Owl licked the end of his pencil, and wondered how to spell “birthday.” “Can you read, Pooh?” he asked a little anxiously. “There’s a notice about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin wrote. Could you read it?” “Christopher Robin told me what it said, and then I could.” “Well, I’ll tell you what this says, and then you’ll be able to.” So Owl wrote ... and this is what he wrote: HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY. Pooh looked on admiringly. “I’m just saying ‘A Happy Birthday’,” said Owl carelessly. “It’s a nice long one,” said Pooh, very much impressed by it. “Well, actually, of course, I’m saying ‘A Very Happy Birthday with love from Pooh.’ Naturally it takes a good deal of pencil to say a long thing like that.” “Oh, I see,” said Pooh.

One day when the sun had come back over the Forest, bringing with it the scent of may, and all the streams of the Forest were tinkling happily to find themselves their own pretty shape again, and the little pools lay dreaming of the life they had seen and the big things they had done, and in the warmth and quiet of the Forest the cuckoo was trying over his voice carefully and listening to see if he liked it, and wood-pigeons were complaining gently to themselves in their lazy comfortable way that it was the other fellow’s fault, but it didn’t matter very much; on such a day as this Christopher Robin whistled in a special way he had, and Owl came flying out of the Hundred Acre Wood to see what was wanted.

“The thing to do is as follows. First, Issue a Reward. Then——” “Just a moment,” said Pooh, holding up his paw. “What do we do to this—what you were saying? You sneezed just as you were going to tell me.” “I didn’t sneeze.” “Yes, you did, Owl.” “Excuse me, Pooh, I didn’t. You can’t sneeze without knowing it.” “Well, you can’t know it without something having been sneezed.” “What I said was, ‘First Issue a Reward’.” “You’re doing it again,” said Pooh sadly.

The next moment the day became very bothering indeed, because Pooh was so busy not looking where he was going that he stepped on a piece of the Forest which had been left out by mistake; and he only just had time to think to himself: “I’m flying. What Owl does. I wonder how you stop——” when he stopped.

“I like talking to Rabbit. He talks about sensible things. He doesn’t use long, difficult words, like Owl. He uses short, easy words, like ‘What about lunch?’ and ‘Help yourself, Pooh.’ I suppose really, I ought to go and see Rabbit.”

“After all,” said Rabbit to himself, “Christopher Robin depends on Me. He’s fond of Pooh and Piglet and Eeyore, and so am I, but they haven’t any Brain. Not to notice. And he respects Owl, because you can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count. And Kanga is too busy looking after Roo, and Roo is too young and Tigger is too bouncy to be any help, so there’s really nobody but Me, when you come to look at it. I’ll go and see if there’s anything he wants doing, and then I’ll do it for him. It’s just the day for doing things.”

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.

He could spell his own name WOL, and he could spell Tuesday so that you knew it wasn’t Wednesday, and he could read quite comfortably when you weren’t looking over his shoulder and saying “Well?”

“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.”

Owl explained about the Necessary Dorsal Muscles. He had explained this to Pooh and Christopher Robin once before, and had been waiting ever since for a chance to do it again, because it is a thing which you can easily explain twice before anybody knows what you are talking about.

And then Piglet did a Noble Thing, and he did it in a sort of dream, while he was thinking of all the wonderful words Pooh had hummed about him. “Yes, it’s just the house for Owl,” he said grandly. “And I hope he’ll be very happy in it.” And then he gulped twice, because he had been very happy in it himself.

“And what about the new house?” asked Pooh. “Have you found it, Owl?” “He’s found a name for it,” said Christopher Robin, lazily nibbling at a piece of grass, “so now all he wants is the house.”

“Owl,” said Pooh, “I have thought of something.” “Astute and Helpful Bear,” said Owl. Pooh looked proud at being called a stout and helpful bear, and said modestly that he just happened to think of it.

“Pooh,” said Owl severely, “did you do that?” “No,” said Pooh humbly. “I don’t think so.” “Then who did?” “I think it was the wind,” said Piglet. “I think your house has blown down.” “Oh, is that it? I thought it was Pooh.” “No,” said Pooh. “If it was the wind,” said Owl, considering the matter, “then it wasn’t Pooh’s fault. No blame can be attached to him.” With these kind words he flew up to look at his new ceiling.

Kanga was down below tying the things on, and calling out to Owl, “You won’t want this dirty old dish-cloth any more, will you, and what about this carpet, it’s all in holes,” and Owl was calling back indignantly, “Of course I do! It’s just a question of arranging the furniture properly, and it isn’t a dish-cloth, it’s my shawl.”

So she got cross with Owl and said that his house was a Disgrace, all damp and dirty, and it was quite time it did tumble down. Look at that horrid bunch of toadstools growing out of the floor there! So Owl looked down, a little surprised because he didn’t know about this, and then gave a short sarcastic laugh, and explained that that was his sponge, and that if people didn’t know a perfectly ordinary bath-sponge when they saw it, things were coming to a pretty pass.

“Oh, there it is! Oh, Owl! Owl, it isn’t a sponge, it’s a spudge! Do you know what a spudge is, Owl? It’s when your sponge gets all——” and Kanga said, “Roo, dear!” very quickly, because that’s not the way to talk to anybody who can spell TUESDAY.

Owl looked at the notice again. To one of his education the reading of it was easy.