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.
ENID BLYTONWriting for children is an art in itself, and a most interesting one.
More Enid Blyton Quotes
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My work in books, films and talks lies almost wholly with children, and I have very little time to give to grown-ups.
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!
ENID BLYTON -
You are honest enough by nature to be able to see and judge your own self clearly – and that is a great thing.
ENID BLYTON -
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 BLYTON -
Elizabeth. Only the strongest people have the pluck to change their minds, and say so, if they see they have been wrong in their ideas.
ENID BLYTON -
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!
ENID BLYTON -
I wonder where you got that idea from? I mean, the idea that it’s feeble to change your mind once it’s made up. That’s a wrong idea, you know.
ENID BLYTON -
All the children stood and gazed at it, loving it and longing to go to it. It looked so secret – almost magic.
ENID BLYTON -
Mothers were much too sharp. They were like dogs. Buster always sensed when anything was out of the ordinary, and so did mothers.
ENID BLYTON -
Well, you know what grown-ups are,’ said Dinah. ‘They don’t think the same way as we do.
ENID BLYTON -
Here Mr Potts come here you little idiot!
ENID BLYTON -
Writing for children is an art in itself, and a most interesting one.
ENID BLYTON -
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.
ENID BLYTON -
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.
ENID BLYTON -
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,
ENID BLYTON






