“You're very old, aren't you?""Just as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth.”

“Good-bye, Mrs Bartholemew," said tom, shaking hands with stiff politeness; "and thank you very much for having me.""I shall look forward to our meeting again," said Mrs Bartholemew, equally primly. Tom went slowly down the attic stairs. Then, at the bottom, he hesitated: he turned impulsively and ran up again - two at a time - to where Hatty Bartholemew still stood...Afterwards, Aunt Gwen tried to describe to her husband that second parting between them. "He ran up to her, and they hugged each other as if they had known each other for years and years, instead of only having met for the first time this morning. There was something else, too, Alan, although I know you'll say it sounds even more absurd...Of course, Mrs Bartholemew's such a shrunken little old woman, she's hardly bigger than Tom; anyway: but, you know, he put his arms right round her and he hugged her good-bye as if she were a little girl.”

“If you don't get it, you don't get it."..."If you don't get it, you may yet.”

“Nothing stands still, except in our memory.”

“A habit of solitude in early childhood is not easily broken. Indeed, it may prove lifelong.”

“How old are you?" asked Door. Richard was pleased she had asked; he would never have dared."As old as my tongue," said Hunter, primly, "and a little older than my teeth.”

“You may be gifted, but you have the maturity of 5 year olds.”