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.
ENID BLYTONWell, you know what grown-ups are,’ said Dinah. ‘They don’t think the same way as we do.
More Enid Blyton Quotes
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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 children gazed in delight. Nothing but trees and birds and little wild animals. Oh, what a secret island, all for their very own, to live on and play on.
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Soon they were all sitting on the rocky ledge, which was still warm, watching the sun go down into the lake.
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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.
ENID BLYTON -
Well, we must be jolly old-fashioned then,’ said Bessie. ‘Because we not only believe in the Faraway Tree and love our funny friends there, but we go to see them too – and we visit the lands at the top of the Tree as well!
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Oh, I wish I lived in a caravan!’ said Jimmy longingly. ‘How lovely it must be to live in a house that has wheels and can go away down the lanes and through the towns, and stand still in fields at night!
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There was a dish of salt for everyone to dip their eggs into. ‘I don’t know why, but the meals we have on picnics always taste so much nicer than the ones we have indoors,’ said George.
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You’re trying to escape from your difficulties, and there never is any escape from difficulties, never. They have to be faced and fought.
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The best way to treat obstacles is to use them as stepping-stones.
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They saw the flicker of bats overhead. They smelt the drifting scent of honeysuckle, and the delicious smell of wild thyme crushed under their bodies. A reed-warbler sang a beautiful little song in the reeds below, and then another answered.
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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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I expect when we grow up, we shall think like them – but let’s hope we remember what it was like to think in the way children do, and understand the boys and the girls that are growing up when we’re men and women.
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They lay on their heathery beds and listened to all the sounds of the night. They heard the little grunt of a hedgehog going by.
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Writing for children is an art in itself, and a most interesting one.
ENID BLYTON