You can't stay in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.

You gave me Christopher Robin, and then
You breathed new life in Pooh.
Whatever of each has left my pen
Goes homing back to you.
My book is ready, and comes to greet
The mother it longs to see --
It would be my present to you, my sweet,
If it weren't your gift to me.

It's your fault, Eeyore. You've never been to see any of us. You just stay here in this one corner of the Forest waiting for the others to come to you. Why don't you go to THEM sometimes?

Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.

Never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.

I gave up writing children's books. I wanted to escape from them as I had once wanted to escape from 'Punch': as I have always wanted to escape. In vain.