The Dormouse Looked Out, And He Said

His Dress Told Her Nothing, But His Face Told Her Things Which She Was Glad To Know.

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.

They're Funny Things, Accidents. You Never Have Them Till You're Having Them.

But [pooh] Couldn't Sleep. The More He Tried To Sleep The More He Couldn't. He Tried Counting Sheep, Which Is Sometimes A Good Way Of Getting To Sleep, And, As That Was No Good, He Tried Counting Heffalumps. And That Was Worse. Because Every Heffalump That He Counted Was Making Straight For A Pot Of Pooh's Honey, And Eating It All. For Some Minutes He Lay There Miserably, But When The Five Hundred And Eighty-seventh Heffalump Was Licking Its Jaws, And Saying To Itself, "very Good Honey This, I Don't Know When I've Tasted Better," Pooh Could Bear It No Longer.

That's What Tiggers Do Best!