“You'll think this is a bit silly, but I'm a bit--well, I have a thing about birds.""What, a phobia?""Sort of.""Well, that's the common term for an irrational fear of birds.""What do they call a rational fear of birds, then?”

“I have no phobias. Phobias are irrational. My fears are rational and CAREFULLY CULTIVATED, like roses.”

“You can know the name of a bird in all the languages of the world, but when you're finished, you'll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird... So let's look at the bird and see what it's doing — that's what counts. I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.”

“For a taste that's a bit more distinct, eat a bird before it's extinct.”

“There are two kinds of fears: rational and irrational- or in simpler terms, fears that make sense and fears that don't.”

“I don't think you understand," said Milo timidly as the watchdog growled a warning. "We're looking for a place to spend the night.""It's not yours to spend," the bird shrieked again, and followed it with the same horrible laugh."That doesn't make any sense, you see—" he started to explain."Dollars or cents, it's still not yours to spend," the bird replied haughtily."But I didn't mean—" insisted Milo."Of course you're mean," interrupted the bird, closing the eye that had been open and opening the one that had been closed. "Anyone who'd spend a night that doesn't belong to him is very mean.""Well, I thought that by—" he tried again desperately."That's a different story," interjected the bird a bit more amiably. "If you want to buy, I'm sure I can arrange to sell, but with what you're doing you'll probably end up in a cell anyway.""That doesn't seem right," said Milo helplessly, for, with the bird taking everything the wrong way, he hardly knew what he was saying."Agreed," said the bird, with a sharp click of his beak, "but neither is it left, although if I were you I would have left a long time ago.”