Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were–Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter.
BEATRIX POTTERSo much perfection argues rottenness somewhere.
More Beatrix Potter Quotes
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Here comes Peter Cottontail right down the bunny trail.
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I cannot rest, I must draw, however poor the result, and when I have a bad time come over me it is a stronger desire than ever.
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It sometimes happens that the town child is more alive to the fresh beauty of the country than a child who is country born..
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Thank God I have the seeing eye, that is to say, as I lie in bed I can walk step by step on the fells and rough land seeing every stone and flower and patch of bog and cotton pass where my old legs will never take me again.
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Mrs. Tiggy-winkle’s hand, holding the tea-cup, was very very brown, and very very wrinkly with the soap-suds; and all through her gown and her cap, there were HAIRPINS sticking wrong end out; so that Lucie didn’t like to sit too near her.
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For quiet, solitary and observant children create their own world and live in it, nourishing their imaginations on the material at hand.
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Don’t go into Mr. McGregor’s garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.
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A gentleman had a favourite cat whom he taught to sit at the dinner table where it behaved very well. He was in the habit of putting any scraps he left onto the cat’s plate.
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The shorter and the plainer the better.
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We cannot stay home all our lives, we must present ourselves to the world and we must look upon it as an adventure.
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Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some chamomile tea: “One table-spoonful to be taken at bedtime.
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Peter lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe amongst the potatoes.
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There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they’ll take you.
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Once upon a time there were three kittens, and their names were Mitten, Tom Kitten, and Moppet. They had dear little fur coats of their own; and they tumbled about the doorstep and played in the dust.
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What heaven can be more real than to retain the spirit-world of childhood?
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