WHERE did you say it was?' asked Pooh.
Just here,' said Eeyore.
Made of sticks?'
Yes'
Oh!' said Piglet.
What?' said Eeyore.
I just said "Oh!"' said Piglet nervously. And so as to seem quite at ease he hummed Tiddely-pom once or twice in a what-shall-we-do-now kind of way.
About author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: english
- Born: January 18, 1882
- Died: January 31, 1956
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And blessed be the first sweet suffering that I felt in being conjoined with love and the bow and the shafts with which I was pierced, and the wounds that run to the depths of my hear? any man who loves this poem as I do, must be my master... And any man who feels as I do about these words must be my drinking companion.
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Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our teeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurour and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!
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