I Think People Make Their Own Faces,

Here Mr Potts Come Here You Little Idiot!

The Little Island Seemed To Float On The Dark Lake-waters. Trees Grew On It, And A Little Hill Rose In The Middle Of It. It Was A Mysterious Island, Lonely And Beautiful. All The Children Stood And Gazed At It, Loving It And Longing To Go To It. It Looked So Secret - Almost Magic.

Writing For Children Is An Art In Itself, And A Most Interesting One.

Mothers Were Much Too Sharp. They Were Like Dogs. Buster Always Sensed When Anything Was Out Of The Ordinary, And So Did Mothers. Mothers And Dogs Both Had A Kind Of Second Sight That Made Them See Into People's Minds And Know When Anything Unusual Was Going On.

I Have Written, Probably, More Books For Children Than Any Other Writer, From Story-books To Plays, And Can Claim To Know More About Interesting Children Than Most.