Sourced and curated.

Children's book · Children's literature

The Minpins · 1990

★ 1.8

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.

A.A. Milne

The House at Pooh Corner · 1928

★ 1.9

But there was one other thing that the grownups also knew, and it was this: that however small the chance might be of striking lucky, the chance was there. The chance had to be there.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory · 1964

★ 1.9

It doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like so long as somebody loves you.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe- Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew.

The Witches · 1983

★ 1.9

Poem · Children's literature

Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod · 1889

★ 1.9

Children's book · Children's literature

Eeyore was saying to himself, "This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it."

A.A. Milne

Winnie-the-Pooh · 1926

★ 1.9

So please, oh please, we beg, we pray, Go throw your TV set away, And in its place you can install A lovely bookshelf on the wall.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory · 1964

★ 1.9

Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog.

Matilda · 1988

★ 1.9

You’ll never get anywhere if you go about what-iffing like that.

Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator · 1972

★ 2.0

Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, will you join the dance?

Lewis Carroll

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland · 1865

★ 2.2

Novel · Children's literature · Adventure novel

We said there warn't no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don't. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.

Mark Twain

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn · 1884

★ 2.2

Children's literature

Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him and it was still hot.

Maurice Sendak

Where the Wild Things Are · 1963

★ 2.8

Children's literature

Don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your father had an accident there, he was put into a pie by Mrs. McGregor.

Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Peter Rabbit · 1902

★ 2.9

I will not pretend I wasn't petrified. I was. But mixed in with the awful fear was a glorious feeling of excitement. Most of the really exciting things we do in our lives scare us to death. They wouldn't be exciting if they didn't.

Danny, the Champion of the World · 1975

★ 3.5

A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.

Lots of people talk to animals. Not very many listen though. That's the problem.

The Twits · 1980

★ 3.5

Children's literature

Benjamin Hoff

1982

★ 3.5

But Mole stood still a moment, held in thought. As one wakened suddenly from a beautiful dream, who struggles to recall it, and can recapture nothing but a dim sense of the beauty of it, the beauty! Till that, too, fades away in its turn, and the dreamer bitterly accepts the hard, cold waking and all its penalties.

The Wind in the Willows · 1908

★ 3.5

Secrets had an immense attraction to him, because he never could keep one, and he enjoyed the sort of unhallowed thrill he experienced when he went and told another animal, after having faithfully promised not to.

The Wind in the Willows · 1908

★ 3.5

Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.

The Wind in the Willows · 1908

★ 3.5

When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over, and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.