I think people make their own faces, as they grow.
ENID BLYTONTo wish undone something you have done, to wish you could look back on kindness to someone you love, instead of on unkindness – that is a very terrible thing.
More Enid Blyton Quotes
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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.
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All the children stood and gazed at it, loving it and longing to go to it. It looked so secret – almost magic.
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A clown needn’t be the same out of the ring as he has to be when he’s in it. If you look at photographs of clowns when they’re just being ordinary men, they’ve got quite sad faces.
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To wish undone something you have done, to wish you could look back on kindness to someone you love, instead of on unkindness – that is a very terrible thing.
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Remorse is a terrible thing to bear, Pam, one of the worst of all punishments in this life.
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Here Mr Potts come here you little idiot!
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Hatred is so much easier to win than love – and so much harder to get rid of.
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The secret island had looked mysterious enough on the night they had seen it before – but now, swimming in the hot June haze, it seemed more enchanting than ever.
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You are honest enough by nature to be able to see and judge your own self clearly – and that is a great thing.
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I do love the beginning of the summer hols,’ said Julian. They always seem to stretch out ahead for ages and ages.’ ‘They go so nice and slowly at first,’ said Anne, his little sister. ‘Then they start to gallop.
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As they drew near to it, and saw the willow trees that bent over the water-edge and heard the sharp call of moorhens that scuttled off,
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Well, you know what grown-ups are,’ said Dinah. ‘They don’t think the same way as we do.
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Mothers were much too sharp. They were like dogs. Buster always sensed when anything was out of the ordinary, and so did mothers.
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It was the most beautiful evening, with the lake as blue as a cornflower and the sky flecked with rosy clouds. They held their hard-boiled eggs in one hand and a piece of bread and butter in the other, munching happily.
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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.
ENID BLYTON