“We have tears in our eyesAs we wave our goodbyes,We so loved being with you, we three.So do please now and thenCome and see us again,The Giraffe and the Pelly and me."All you do is to lookAt a page in this bookBecause that’s where we always will be.No book ever endsWhen it’s full of your friendsThe Giraffe and the Pelly and me.”

“All you do is to look / At a page in this book / Because that's where we always will be. / No book ever ends / When it's full of your friends / The Giraffe and the Pelly and me.”

“Gabrielle: When I was a little girl, on Sunday mornings, if I'd been good, I was allowed to feed the giraffes.Richard: Giraffes! Don't tell me that you had giraffes too?Gabrielle: You mean you...Richard: But of course we didGabrielle: Oh what fun. Both of us having had giraffes as children.”

“Thus it often is with us, we take a course, and we keep to it, as if we were infallible, and we allow nothing to alter our convictions. We persuade ourselves that we are right, and we hold on our course unmoved. Death steps in: and now, when the past is irrevocable, the scales that have so long darkened our eyes, fall at once to the ground, and we see that we were wrong after all. How much cruel conduct, how many harsh words, how many little unkindnesses do we wish unspoken and undone when we look upon a dead face we have loved, or stand by the side of a new-made grave! how we wish—how we wish that we could but have the time over again! Perhaps in past times we were quite content with our own conduct; we had no doubts in our mind but that we always did what was right and kind, and that we were in every way doing our duty. But now in what a different light do right and duty appear! how we regret that we ever caused tears to flow from those dear eyes, now never to open again! why could we not have made those small concessions which would have cost us so little, why were we so hard upon that trifling fault, why so impatient with that little failing? Ah me! ah me! if we could but live our lives over again, how different, oh, how different it should be! And yet while we say this, we do not think that there are others yet alive upon whose faults we are just as hard, with whose failings we bear just as little, and that these, too, may some day go down into the quiet grave, and that we may again have to stand beside and cry 'peccavi'.”

“Could we see when and where we are to meet again, we would be more tender when we bid our friends goodbye.”

“What was unspoken between us, what need never be explained or said, was that nobody would ever love us again like our mothers did. Yes, we would be loved, by our fathers, our friends, our siblings, our aunts and uncles and grandparents and spouses--and our children if we chose to have them--but never would we experience that kind of unconditional, nothing-you-can-do-will-turn-me-away-from-you kind of mother love.”