Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz quotes

“Of course,” he answered. “Train in?”

“I couldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” she said.

He laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. Jumping out of the buggy he put Dorothy’s suitcase under the seat and her birdcage on the floor in front.

“Gid-dap!” called the boy, again.

“Perhaps,” said Dorothy, “if you untied him, he would go.”

The boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out.

“Isn’t that a great deal?” she asked, doubtfully.

“Why, it’s a great deal for Uncle Hugson, but not for me. I’m a splendid worker. I work as well as I sleep,” he added, with a laugh.

“What is your name?” said Dorothy, thinking she liked the boy’s manner and the cheery tone of his voice.

He was not going very fast, but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble like a leaf.

The sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it swept over the valley.

Suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. With a wild neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its occupants after him.

“As for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves,” answered Dorothy, cheerfully. “But never mind; something will happen pretty soon.”

“Of course,” growled the horse, “and then we shall be sorry it happened.”

Zeb gave a shiver. All this was so terrible and unreal that he could not understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid.

“We’ll never get home again, though!” declared Zeb, with a groan.

“Oh, I’m not so sure of that,” replied the girl. “But don’t let us worry over such things, Zeb; we can’t help ourselves just now, you know, and I’ve always been told it’s foolish to borrow trouble.”

The boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them.

“None of us has had breakfast,” said the boy; “and in a time of danger like this it’s foolish to talk about eating.”

“Nothing is more dangerous than being without food,” declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; “and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. If there are, they are liable to be glass oats!”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. But I wish we could find a way to get to the ground.”

“This child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a Wizard. Is not a Wizard something like a Sorcerer?”

“It’s better,” replied Oz, promptly. “One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers.”

“Ah, you shall prove that,” said the Prince. “We Mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful Sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. Do you ever make mistakes?”

“One person cannot be called ‘people,’ ” said the Sorcerer. “If two should come out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than this one appears I will hold that I was right.”

“Very clever,” said the Wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. “I am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. Were you ever with a circus, brother?”

“You ought to join one,” declared the little man seriously. “I belong to Bailum & Barney’s Great Consolidated Shows—three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. It’s a fine aggregation, I assure you.”

“Who built these lovely bridges?” asked the little girl.

“No one built them,” answered the man with the star. “They grow.”

“That’s queer,” said she. “Did the glass houses in your city grow, too?”

When they passed over a field of grass Jim immediately stretched down his head and began to nibble.

“A nice country this is,” he grumbled, “where a respectable horse has to eat pink grass!”

“It’s violet,” said the Wizard, who was in the buggy.

“It’s violet,” said the Wizard, who was in the buggy.

“Now it’s blue,” complained the horse. “As a matter of fact, I’m eating rainbow grass.”

“How does it taste?” asked the Wizard.

“He won’t need to destroy me, for if I don’t get something to eat pretty soon I shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble.”

“If he planted you, he might grow some cattails,” suggested the Wizard.

“Oh, Eureka! perhaps we can find you some milkweeds to eat,” said the boy.

“I don’t believe you are a Wizard at all!”

“No,” answered the little man, “you are quite right. In the strict sense of the word I am not a Wizard, but only a humbug.”

“The Wizard of Oz has always been a humbug,” agreed Dorothy. “I’ve known him for a long time.”

“I should say so!” grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the kitten; “cats are cruel things.”

“I’m not cruel,” replied the kitten, yawning. “I’m just hungry.”

“You cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving,” declared the little man, in a stern voice. “They are the only things I have to prove I’m a wizard.”

“How did they happen to be so little?” asked Dorothy. “I never saw such small pigs before.”

“They are from the Island of Teenty-Weent,” said the Wizard, “where everything is small because it’s a small island. A sailor brought them to Los Angeles and I gave him nine tickets to the circus for them.”

“But what am I going to eat?” wailed the kitten, sitting in front of Dorothy and looking pleadingly into her face. “There are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers.

So the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned Dorothy was awake. Then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do next, but could think of no way to better their condition.

“I don’t like these veg’table people,” said the little girl. “They’re cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness.”

“I agree with you. It is because there is no warm blood in them,” remarked the Wizard.

“I agree with you. It is because there is no warm blood in them,” remarked the Wizard.

“And they have no hearts; so they can’t love anyone⁠—not even themselves,” declared the boy.

“The Princess is lovely to look at,” continued Dorothy, thoughtfully; “but I don’t care much for her, after all. If there was any other place to go, I’d like to go there.”

“And we do not have to be so particular about our dress,” remarked the man.

“And mama can’t tell whether my face is dirty or not!” added the other childish voice, gleefully.

“But I make you wash it, every time I think of it,” said the mother; “for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not.”

“And mama can’t tell whether my face is dirty or not!” added the other childish voice, gleefully.

“But I make you wash it, every time I think of it,” said the mother; “for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not.”

Dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands.

The girl laughed, and her mother said:

“We are not vain in the Valley of Voe, because we can not display our beauty, and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions. Yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky.”

“How about the birds and beasts and fishes?” asked Zeb.

“Our Champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. But they were in great numbers, and the Champion could not shout much because he had to save his breath for fighting.”

“Very good,” said the Wizard; “we can all yell better than we can fight, so we ought to defeat the Gargoyles.”

“But tell me,” said Dorothy, “how did such a brave Champion happen to let the bears eat him? And if he was invis’ble, and the bears invis’ble, who knows that they really ate him up?”

“You’ll have to make a dash, Jim,” said the Wizard, “and run as fast as you can go.”

“All right,” answered the horse; “I’ll do my best. But you must remember I’m old, and my dashing days are past and gone.”

All three got into the buggy and Zeb picked up the reins, though Jim needed no guidance of any sort.

“What are your products?” enquired the Wizard.

“Well, I make Assorted Flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of Rustles for ladies’ silk gowns.”

“I thought so,” said the Wizard, with a sigh. “May we examine some of these articles?”

“You have made me very, very happy, my dear!” he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the Wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles.

“You may need them, some time,” he said, “and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them.”

“Why did you leave the surface of the earth?” enquired the Wizard.

“I’ve always loved the piglets,” she said; “but they don’t love me.”

“No one can love a person he’s afraid of,” asserted Dorothy. “If you behave, and don’t scare the little pigs, I’m sure they’ll grow very fond of you.”

The Wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed.

“But why fight at all, in that case?” asked the girl.

“So I may die with a clear conscience,” returned the Wizard, gravely. “It’s every man’s duty to do the best he knows how; and I’m going to do it.”

“Wish I had an axe,” said Zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse.

“Wish I had an axe,” said Zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse.

“If we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other useful things,” responded the Wizard. “But we dropped into this adventure rather unexpectedly.”

The Gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking, for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in the silence surrounding them.

“To ‘climb down’ is sometimes used as a figure of speech,” remarked the Wizard.

“Well, this was a figure of a cat,” said Jim, “and she went down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept.”

“Dear me! how careless Eureka is,” exclaimed the girl, much distressed. “The Gurgles will get her, sure!”

“You must be very quiet,” warned the kitten; “for if you make the least noise the Gargoyles will wake up. They can hear a pin drop.”

“I’m not going to drop a pin,” said Zeb.

He had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house.

“How old are you?” enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated.

“Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday.”

“But that isn’t young!” cried Dorothy, in amazement.

Can you match that pedigree, little girl?”

“Well,” said Dorothy, “I was born on a farm in Kansas, and I guess that’s being just as ’spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. If it isn’t I’ll have to stand it, that’s all.”

“Tastes differ,” murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons.

“So will I,” returned Dorothy.

“It’s enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes. No one knows what the mother might do.”

They now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. The lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the Wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer.

“No,” answered Dorothy.

“But don’t you lose heart, Jim, for I’m sure this isn’t the end of our story, by any means.”

The reference to the piglets reminded the Wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket.

“I am,” replied the little man.

“Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole,” declared the tiny one, with much confidence.

“I could if I happened to be a real wizard,” returned the master sadly. “But I’m not, my piggy-wees; I’m a humbug wizard.”

But I am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave.”

“I don’t believe we’ll realize anything, when it comes to that,” remarked Dorothy, who had been deep in thought. “But I’m not going to scatter my bones just yet, because I need them, and you prob’ly need yours, too.”

“We are helpless to escape,” sighed the Wizard.

“Then,” said the Wizard, “you will be saved, little Dorothy; and I am very glad of it. The rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have escaped our sad fate.”

“I won’t die cheerfully!” protested the kitten. “There’s nothing cheerful about dying that I could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and so must die nine times.”

“Have you ever died yet?” enquired the boy.

“We owe a great deal to the Wonderful Wizard,” continued the Princess, “for it was you who built this splendid Emerald City.”

“Your people built it,” he answered. “I only bossed the job, as we say in Omaha.”

“But you ruled it wisely and well for many years,” said she, “and made the people proud of your magical art.

“He’s only a humbug Wizard, though,” said Dorothy, smiling at him.

“And that is the safest kind of a Wizard to have,” replied Ozma, promptly.

“Oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug,” announced Zeb, who was now feeling more at ease.

“H. M.,” said the Woggle-Bug, pompously, “means Highly Magnified; and T. E. means Thoroughly Educated. I am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the most intelligent being in all this broad domain.”

“How well you disguise it,” said the Wizard. “But I don’t doubt your word in the least.”

“Nobody doubts it, sir,” replied the Woggle-Bug, and drawing a book from its pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a corner to read.

“Highness!” repeated Jim, who was unused to such titles.

“You are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in this country,” said the Steward.

“Well, my Highness would like some oats,” declared the horse.

“I have no need to breathe,” returned the other.

“No; you miss many pleasures,” remarked the cab-horse, pityingly. “You do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air. You may be an imitation of a horse, but you’re a mighty poor one.”

“Oh, I cannot hope ever to be like you,” sighed the Sawhorse. “But I am glad to meet a last a Real Horse. You are certainly the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.”

“Is not the Real Horse a beautiful animal?” asked the Sawhorse admiringly.

“That is doubtless a matter of taste,” returned the Lion.

“In the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long. His joints, I notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks flesh and is old in years.”

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” replied the Sawhorse.

“That is what we are trying to find out,” remarked the Scarecrow. “The object of a race is to see who can win it⁠—or at least that is what my excellent brains think.”

“Once, when I was young,” said Jim, “I was a race horse, and defeated all who dared run against me. I was born in Kentucky, you know, where all the best and most aristocratic horses come from.”

There was more applause at this, and then Ozma had the jewelled saddle replaced upon the Sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the head of the grand procession.

“I ought to be a fairy,” grumbled Jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; “for to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account whatever. It’s no place for us, Zeb.”

“It’s lucky we got here, though,” said the boy; and Jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him.

“Don’t interrupt, little girl,” said the Woggle-Bug. “When I get my thoughts arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion.”

“If your thoughts were any good they wouldn’t become confused,” remarked the Scarecrow, earnestly.

“My thoughts are always—”

“Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?” demanded the Woggle-Bug.

“It’s a trial of one kitten,” replied the Scarecrow; “but your manner is a trial to us all.”

“Let the Public Accuser continue,” called Ozma from her throne, “and I pray you do not interrupt him.”

“I say I can see her in my mind’s eye—”

“The mind has no eye,” declared the Scarecrow. “It’s blind.”

“Your Highness,” cried the Woggle-Bug, appealing to Ozma, “have I a mind’s eye, or haven’t I?”

“Of course; how else could I see it? And we know the thing is true, because since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere.”

“I suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind’s eye would see the piglet eating the cat,” suggested the Scarecrow.

“Very likely,” acknowledged the Woggle-Bug. “And now, Fellow Citizens and Creatures of the Jury, I assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in the case of the ferocious criminal before you—who is now washing her face—the death penalty should be inflicted nine times.”

“Respected Jury and dearly beloved Ozma, I pray you not to judge this feline prisoner unfeelingly.

I do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder.

Eureka is the sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and innocence are her chief virtues. Look at the kitten’s intelligent eyes;” (here Eureka closed her eyes sleepily) “gaze at her smiling countenance!”

“Then say something sensible,” retorted the kitten. “Tell them it would be foolish for me to eat the piglet, because I had sense enough to know it would raise a row if I did.

But don’t try to make out I’m too innocent to eat a fat piglet if I could do it and not be found out.

I imagine it would taste mighty good.”