Winnie the Pooh Quotes

100+ of the best book quotes from Winnie the Pooh
“Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon.”
“‘When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,’ said Piglet at last, ‘What’s the first thing you say to yourself?’ ‘What’s for breakfast?’ said Pooh. ‘What do you say, Piglet?’ ‘I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?’ said Piglet. Pooh nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s the same thing,’ he said.”
“Hello, Rabbit,” he said, “Is that you?” “Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “And see what happens.”
“My spelling is Wobbly. It’s good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.”
“A day without a friend is like a pot without a single drop of honey left inside.”
“A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference.”
“If it is a good morning, which I doubt.”
“You don’t always want to be miserable on my birthday, do you?”
“You seem so sad, Eeyore.” “Sad? Why should I be sad? It’s my birthday. The happiest day of the year.”
“And many happy returns to you, Pooh Bear.”
“What a long time whoever lives here is answering this door.” And he knocked again. “But Pooh,” said Piglet, “it’s your own house!” “Oh!” Said Pooh. “So it is,” he said. “Well, let’s go in.”
“Now let me see,” he thought, as he took his last lick of the inside of the jar, “where was I going, Ah, yes, Eeyore.” He got up slowly. And then, suddenly, he remembered. He had eaten Eeyore’s present!
″‘Then there’s only one thing to be done,’ he said. ‘We shall have to wait for you to get thin again.’ ‘How long does getting thin take?’ asked Pooh anxiously. ‘About a week, I should think.’ ‘But I can’t stay here for a week!’ ‘You can stay here all right, silly old Bear. It’s getting you out which is so difficult.‘”
″‘I’m afraid no meals,’ said Christopher Robin, ‘because of getting thin quicker. But we will read to you.‘”
″‘You’re the Best Bear in All the World,’ said Christopher Robin soothingly.
“Silly old Bear,” he said.
“What about a story?” said Christopher Robin.
“Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn’t. Anyhow here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh.”
“When I first heard his name, I said, just as you are going to say, ‘But I thought he was a boy?’ ‘So did I,’ said Christopher Robin. ‘Then you can’t call him Winnie?’ ‘I don’t.’ ‘But you said—” ‘He’s Winnie-the-Pooh. Don’t you know what ‘ther’ means?‘”
“I do remember,” he said, “only Pooh doesn’t very well, so that’s why he likes having it told to him again. Because then it’s a real story and not just a remembering.”
“I do remember, and then when I try to remember, I forget.”
“If I know anything about anything, that hole means Rabbit,” he said, “and Rabbit means Company,” he said, “and Company means Food and Listening-to-Me-Humming and such like.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure. You know how it is in the Forest. One can’t have anybody coming into one’s house. One has to be careful. What about a mouthful of something?”
“I have been Foolish and Deluded,” said he, “and I am a Bear of No Brain at All.”
“You’re the Best Bear in All the World,” said Christopher Robin soothingly. “Am I?” said Pooh hopefully. And then he brightened up suddenly.
“And how are you?” said Winnie-the-Pooh. Eeyore shook his head from side to side. “Not very how,” he said. “I don’t seem to have felt at all how for a long time.”
“Thank you, Pooh,” answered Eeyore. “You’re a real friend,” said he. “Not like Some,” he said.
“For I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, and long words Bother me.”
“Good morning, Pooh Bear,” said Eeyore gloomily. “If it is a good morning,” he said. “Which I doubt,” said he.
“Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.”
Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie, A fly can’t bird, but a bird can fly. Ask me a riddle and I reply: “Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie.”
“Here—we—are,” said Rabbit very slowly and carefully, “all—of—us, and then, suddenly, we wake up one morning and, what do we find? We find a Strange Animal among us. An animal of whom we have never even heard before! An animal who carries her family about with her in her pocket! Suppose I carried my family about with me in my pocket, how many pockets should I want?”
“Pooh,” said Rabbit kindly, “you haven’t any brain.” “I know,” said Pooh humbly.
“It is hard to be brave,” said Piglet, sniffing slightly, “when you’re only a Very Small Animal.”
“It is because you are a very small animal that you will be Useful in the adventure before us.”
“If they are having a joke with me, I will have a joke with them.”
“We’re going. Only Don’t Blame Me.”
“Pooh hasn’t much Brain, but he never comes to any harm. He does silly things and they turn out right.”
Owl hasn’t exactly got Brain, but he Knows Things.
There’s Rabbit. He hasn’t Learnt in Books, but he can always Think of a Clever Plan.
She isn’t Clever, Kanga isn’t, but she would be so anxious about Roo that she would do a Good Thing to Do without thinking about It.
And then there’s Eeyore. And Eeyore is so miserable anyhow that he wouldn’t mind about this.
“I wish Pooh were here. It’s so much more friendly with two.”
“The atmospheric conditions have been very unfavourable lately,” said Owl.
“This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it.”
“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?” “What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?” “I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting to-day?” said Piglet. Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said.
Nobody seemed to know where they came from, but there they were in the Forest: Kanga and Baby Roo. When Pooh asked Christopher Robin, “How did they come here?” Christopher Robin said, “In the Usual Way, if you know what I mean, Pooh,” and Pooh, who didn’t, said “Oh!” Then he nodded his head twice and said, “In the Usual Way. Ah!”
“Now don’t talk while I think.”
Kanga never takes her eye off Baby Roo, except when he’s safely buttoned up in her pocket.
Just for a moment, she thought she was frightened, and then she knew she wasn’t; for she felt quite sure that Christopher Robin would never let any harm happen to Roo.
If you go on making faces like Piglet’s, you will grow up to look like Piglet—and then think how sorry you will be.
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!”
“The flood-level has reached an unprecedented height.” “The who?” “There’s a lot of water about,” explained Owl.
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.
Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o’clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and when Rabbit said, “Honey or condensed milk with your bread?” he was so excited that he said, “Both,” and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, “But don’t bother about the bread, please.”
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.
So Kanga and Roo stayed in the Forest. And every Tuesday Roo spent the day with his great friend Rabbit, and every Tuesday Kanga spent the day with her great friend Pooh, teaching him to jump, and every Tuesday Piglet spent the day with his great friend Christopher Robin. So they were all happy again.
“Hallo, Rabbit,” he said, “is that you?” “Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “and see what happens.”
First came Christopher Robin and Rabbit, then Piglet and Pooh; then Kanga, with Roo in her pocket, and Owl; then Eeyore; and, at the end, in a long line, all Rabbit’s friends-and-relations. “I didn’t ask them,” explained Rabbit carelessly. “They just came. They always do. They can march at the end, after Eeyore.”
“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.”
The Piglet lived in a very grand house in the middle of a beech-tree, and the beech-tree was in the middle of the forest, and the Piglet lived in the middle of the house. Next to his house was a piece of broken board which had: “TRESPASSERS W” on it. When Christopher Robin asked the Piglet what it meant, he said it was his grandfather’s name, and had been in the family for a long time, Christopher Robin said you couldn’t be called Trespassers W, and Piglet said yes, you could, because his grandfather was, and it was short for Trespassers Will, which was short for Trespassers William. And his grandfather had had two names in case he lost one—Trespassers after an uncle, and William after Trespassers.
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.
At first as they stumped along the path which edged the Hundred Acre Wood, they didn’t say much to each other; but when they came to the stream and had helped each other across the stepping stones, and were able to walk side by side again over the heather, they began to talk in a friendly way about this and that, and Piglet said, “If you see what I mean, Pooh,” and Pooh said, “It’s just what I think myself, Piglet,” and Piglet said, “But, on the other hand, Pooh, we must remember,” and Pooh said, “Quite true, Piglet, although I had forgotten it for the moment.”
“Piglet,” said Rabbit, taking out a pencil, and licking the end of it, “you haven’t any pluck.”
“What about me?” said Pooh sadly. “I suppose I shan’t be useful?” “Never mind, Pooh,” said Piglet comfortingly. “Another time perhaps.” “Without Pooh,” said Rabbit solemnly as he sharpened his pencil, “the adventure would be impossible.” “Oh!” said Piglet, and tried not to look disappointed.
The Piglet was sitting on the ground at the door of his house blowing happily at a dandelion, and wondering whether it would be this year, next year, sometime or never. He had just discovered that it would be never, and was trying to remember what “it” was, and hoping it wasn’t anything nice, when Pooh came up.
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.
It rained and it rained and it rained. Piglet told himself that never in all his life, and he was goodness knows how old—three, was it, or four?—never had he seen so much rain. Days and days and days. “If only,” he thought, as he looked out of the window, “I had been in Pooh’s house, or Christopher Robin’s house, or Rabbit’s house when it began to rain, then I should have had Company all this time, instead of being here all alone, with nothing to do except wonder when it will stop.” And he imagined himself with Pooh, saying, “Did you ever see such rain, Pooh?” and Pooh saying, “Isn’t it awful, Piglet?” and Piglet saying, “I wonder how it is over Christopher Robin’s way” and Pooh saying, “I should think poor old Rabbit is about flooded out by this time.” It would have been jolly to talk like this, and really, it wasn’t much good having anything exciting like floods, if you couldn’t share them with somebody.
“You mean Piglet. The little fellow with the excited ears. That’s Piglet.”
Later on, when they had all said “Good-bye” and “Thank-you” to Christopher Robin, Pooh and Piglet walked home thoughtfully together in the golden evening, and for a long time they were silent.
“What sort of stories does he like?” “About himself. Because he’s that sort of Bear.”
“That buzzing- noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing-noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.”
Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.” And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.”
“Oh, Bear!” said Christopher Robin. “How I do love you!” “So do I,” 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.
“It wasn’t what Christopher Robin expected, and the more he looked at it, the more he thought what a Brave and Clever Bear Pooh was, and the more Christopher Robin thought this, the more Pooh looked modestly down his nose and tried to pretend he wasn’t.”
“Do go and see, Owl. Because Pooh hasn’t got very much brain, and he might do something silly, and I do love him so, Owl. Do you see, Owl?”
And then this Bear, Pooh Bear, Winnie-the-Pooh, F.O. P. (Friend of Piglet’s), R.C. (Rabbit’s Companion), P.D. (Pole Discoverer), E.C. and T.F. (Eeyore’s Comforter and Tail-finder)—in fact, Pooh himself—said something so clever that Christopher Robin could only look at him with mouth open and eyes staring, wondering if this was really the Bear of Very Little Brain whom he had known and loved so long.
“Oh, help and bother!”
“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.”
So, with a nod of thanks to his friends, he went on with his walk through the forest, humming proudly to himself. But, Christopher Robin looked after him lovingly, and said to himself, “Silly old Bear!”
Of course Pooh would be with him, and it was much more Friendly with two.
“A party for Me?” thought Pooh to himself. “How grand!” And he began to wonder if all the other animals would know that it was a special Pooh Party, and if Christopher Robin had told them about The Floating Bear and the Brain of Pooh and all the wonderful ships he had invented and sailed on, and he began to think how awful it would be if everybody had forgotten about it, and nobody quite knew what the party was for; and the more he thought like this, the more the party got muddled in his mind, like a dream when nothing goes right. And the dream began to sing itself over in his head until it became a sort of song.
“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.”
Pooh felt that he ought to say something helpful about it, but didn’t quite know what. So he decided to do something helpful instead.
Well, he was humming this hum to himself, and walking along gaily, wondering what everybody else was doing, and what it felt like, being somebody else, when suddenly he came to a sandy bank, and in the bank was a large hole.
The Old Grey Donkey, Eeyore, stood by himself in a thistly corner of the forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?“—and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about.
Then Piglet saw what a Foolish Piglet he had been, and he was so ashamed of himself that he ran straight off home and went to bed with a headache.
“Many happy returns of the day,” called out Pooh, forgetting that he had said it already. “Thank you, Pooh, I’m having them,” said Eeyore gloomily.
Christopher Robin was sitting outside his door, putting on his Big Boots. As soon as he saw the Big Boots, Pooh knew that an Adventure was going to happen, and he brushed the honey off his nose with the back of his paw, and spruced himself up as well as he could, so as to look Ready for Anything.
“We’re going to discover the North Pole.” “Oh!” said Pooh again. “What is the North Pole?” he asked. “It’s just a thing you discover,” said Christopher Robin carelessly, not being quite sure himself.
Then he had an idea, and I think that for a Bear of Very Little Brain, it was a good idea.
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.
It was a fine spring morning in the forest as he started out. Little soft clouds played happily in a blue sky, skipping from time to time in front of the sun as if they had come to put it out, and then sliding away suddenly so that the next might have his turn. Through them and between them the sun shone bravely; and a copse which had worn its firs all the year round seemed old and dowdy now beside the new green lace which the beeches had put on so prettily.
“Eeyore,” said Owl, “Christopher Robin is giving a party.” “Very interesting,” said Eeyore. “I suppose they will be sending me down the odd bits which got trodden on. Kind and Thoughtful. Not at all, don’t mention it.”
“When you go after honey with a balloon, the great thing is not to let the bees know you’re coming.
“You never can tell with bees.”
“But is it really your birthday?” he asked. “It is.” “Oh! Well, Many happy returns of the day, Eeyore.” “And many happy returns to you, Pooh Bear.” “But it isn’t my birthday.” “No, it’s mine.” “But you said ‘Many happy returns’——” “Well, why not? You don’t always want to be miserable on my birthday, do you?” “Oh, I see,” said Pooh.
The Sun was still in bed, but there was a lightness in the sky over the Hundred Acre Wood which seemed to show that it was waking up and would soon be kicking off the clothes.
“I’ll try,” I said. So I tried.
“I think the bees suspect something!”
“For Pooh?” said Eeyore. “Of course it is. The best bear in all the world.”
“That Accounts for a Good Deal,” said Eeyore gloomily. “It Explains Everything. No Wonder.”
Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the stream, and looked at himself in the water. “Pathetic,” he said. “That’s what it is. Pathetic.” He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at himself in the water again. “As I thought,” he said. “No better from this side. But nobody minds. Nobody cares. Pathetic, that’s what it is.”
“Have you all got something?” asked Christopher Robin with his mouth full. “All except me,” said Eeyore. “As Usual.” He looked round at them in his melancholy way. “I suppose none of you are sitting on a thistle by any chance?” “I believe I am,” said Pooh. “Ow!” He got up, and looked behind him. “Yes, I was. I thought so.” “Thank you, Pooh. If you’ve quite finished with it.” He moved across to Pooh’s place, and began to eat.
“My tail’s getting cold. I don’t want to mention it, but I just mention it. I don’t want to complain but there it is. My tail’s cold.”
“Hullo, Pooh. Thank you for asking, but I shall be able to use it again in a day or two.” “Use what?” said Pooh. “What we are talking about.” “I wasn’t talking about anything,” said Pooh, looking puzzled. “My mistake again. I thought you were saying how sorry you were about my tail, being all numb, and could you do anything to help?” “No,” said Pooh. “That wasn’t me,” he said. He thought for a little and then suggested helpfully, “Perhaps it was somebody else.” “Well, thank him for me when you see him.”
Piglet was so excited at the idea of being Useful, that he forgot to be frightened any more, and when Rabbit went on to say that Kangas were only Fierce during the winter months, being at other times of an Affectionate Disposition, he could hardly sit still, he was so eager to begin being useful at once.
“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.
“Was that me?” said Christopher Robin in an awed voice, hardly daring to believe it. “That was you.” Christopher Robin said nothing, but his eyes got larger and larger, and his face got pinker and pinker.
He sat down and thought, in the most thoughtful way he could think.
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.”
“It’s an Expedition. That’s what an Expedition means. A long line of everybody. You’d better tell the others to get ready, while I see if my gun’s all right. And we must all bring Provisions.”

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