You know, when once you've discovered a secret yourself, it always seems as if it must be so obvious to everybody else.

Pay attention to where you are going because without meaning you might get nowhere.

Pooh, how do you spell love?' 'You don't spell love Piglet, you feel it.

A bear, however hard he tries, grows tubby without exercise.

Don't blame me if it rains.

No doubt Jack the Ripper excused himself on the grounds that it was human nature.

They have no imagination. A tail is just a tail to them, just a little something extra in the back.

Piglet wasn't afraid if he had Christopher Robin with him, so off they went….

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.

I was walking along looking for somebody, and then suddenly I wasn't anymore.

Never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.

Some people care too much. I think it's called love.

When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.

If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.

A writer wants something more than money for his work: he wants permanence.

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.

I knew when I met you an adventure was going to happen.

A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards.

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?

The more he looked inside the more Piglet wasn't there.

Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.

Piglet opened the letter box and climbed in. Then, having untied himself, he began to squeeze into the slit, through which in the old days when front doors were front doors, many an unexpected letter than WOL had written to himself, had come slipping.

Oh, Kanga, said Pooh, after Rabbit had winked at him twice, I don't know if you are interested in Poetry at all? Hardly at all, said Kanga.

For I am a bear of very little brain, and long words bother me.

Christopher Robin nodded. 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.

It's not much of a tail, but I'm sort of attached to it.

I am sure of this: that no one can write a book which children will like unless he write it for himself first.

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. Anyhow, he said, it is nearly Luncheon Time. So he went home for it.

Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is to go where they can find you.

I suppose that every one of us hopes secretly for immortality; to leave, I mean, a name behind him which will live forever in this world, whatever he may be doing, himself, in the next.

One of the advantages of being disorganized is that one is always having surprising discoveries.

Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits...

And then we'll go out, Piglet, and sing my song to Eeyore.

She also considered very seriously what she would look like in a little cottage in the middle of the forest, dressed in a melancholy gray and holding communion only with the birds and trees; a life of retirement away from the vain world; a life into which no man came. It had its attractions, but she decided that gray did not suit her.

Think it over, think it under.

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

I wasn't afraid, said Pooh, said he, I'm never afraid with you.

Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.

It was a drowsy summer afternoon, and the Forest was full of gentle sounds, which all seemed to be saying to Pooh, 'Don't listen to Rabbit, listen to me.' So he got in a comfortable position for not listening to Rabbit.

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.

He thought how sad it was to be an Animal who had never had a bunch of violets picked for him.

Hallo, Rabbit, he said, is that you?

You never can tell with bees.

If you stop painting policemen in order to paint windmills, criticism remains so overpoweringly policeman-conscious that even a windmill is seen as something with arms out, obviously directing the traffic.

The more - the merrier.

Oh, help!' said Pooh. ‘I'd better go back.' ‘Oh, bother!' said Pooh. ‘I shall have to go on.' ‘I can't do either!' said Pooh. ‘Oh, help and bother!

Hallo, Rabbit, he said, is that you? Let's pretend it isn't, said Rabbit, and see what happens. I've got a message for you. I'll give it to him.

Mind over matter, will make the Pooh unfatter.