“AHA!" interrupted Officer Shrift, making another note in his little book. "Just as I thought: boys are the cause of everything.”

“Outside the window, there was so much to see, and hear, and touch — walks to take, hills to climb, caterpillars to watch as they strolled through the garden. There were voices to hear and conversations to listen to in wonder, and the special smell of each day.And, in the very room in which he sat, there were books that could take you anywhere, and things to invent, and make, and build, and break, and all the puzzle and excitement of everything he didn't know — music to play, songs to sing, and worlds to imagine and then someday make real. His thoughts darted eagerly about as everything looked new — and worth trying."Well, I would like to make another trip," he said, jumping to his feet; "but I really don't know when I'll have the time. There's just so much to do right here.”

“And now," he continued, speaking to Milo, "where were you on the night of July 27?" "What does that have to do with it?" asked Milo."It's my birthday, that's what," said the policeman as he entered "Forgot my birthday" in his little book. "Boys always forget other people's birthdays.”

“Sometimes I find the best way of getting from one place to another is simply to erase everything and begin again.”

“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.”

“Can you spell everything?" asked Milo admiringly."Just about," replied the bee with a hint of pride in his voice. "You see, years ago I was just an ordinary bee minding my own business, smelling flowers all day, and occasionally picking up part-time work in people's bonnets. Then one day I realized that I'd never amount to anything without an education and, being naturally adept at spelling, I decided that—”

“just follow that line forever," said the Mathemagician, "and when you reach the end, turn left. There you'll find the land of Infinity, where the tallest, the shortest, the biggest, the smallest, and the most and least of everything are kept." "I don't have that much time," said Milo anxiously. "isn't there a quicker way?" "Well, you might try this flight of stairs," he suggested, opening another door and pointing up."It goes there, too.”