E. Nesbit

Gerald could always make himself look interesting at a moment’s notice, a very useful accomplishment in dealing with strange grownups.

It has been said that all roads lead to Rome; this may be true, but at any rate, in early youth I am quite sure that many roads lead to bed, and stop there⁠—or you do.

The world, they felt, and indeed had some reason to feel, was full of wonderful things⁠—and they were really the sort of people that wonderful things happen to.

This is the story of the different ways we looked for treasure, and I think when you have read it you will see that we were not lazy about the looking.

Letting lodgings is one of the most unpleasant of all possible ways of earning your living, and I advise you to try every other honest way of earning your living before you take to that.

Next came Peter, who wished to be an engineer when he grew up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well.

For London is like prison for children, especially if their relations are not rich.

It is as though some wicked giant had taken a big brush full of yellow ochre paint, and another full of mud color, and had painted out the green in streaks of dull yellow and filthy brown; and the brown is the roads and the yellow is the houses.

Philip Haldane and his sister lived in a little red-roofed house in a little red-roofed town.

Aunt Enid was not a real aunt, but just an old friend of Grandmamma’s, with an aunt’s name and privileges and rather more than an aunt’s authority.

You see, if you want grownups to be nice to you the least you can do is to be nice to them and think of little things to please them.

Every mouth was agape, every eye a-goggle.

Now it is a very odd thing that no one ever seems to furnish a room “for letting” in a bit the same way as one would furnish it for living in.

A great deal of your comfort and happiness depends on having a good General.

Now it is very difficult to address a back politely.

Their idea of Aunt Emma’s proper place was anywhere where they were not.

In London almost everything is labelled “You mustn’t touch,” and though the label is invisible it’s just as bad, because you know it’s there, or if you don’t you jolly soon get told.

Dickie was almost as unhappy as though the hutch had really held a furry friend.

“I’d rather be a white mouse than a cruel bully,” said Lucy at last.

“Like Sabrina⁠—only very, very tiny.”