And when, at last, .... I stood in London with ten pounds in my hand - five of which I promptly lost - the ancestors dwelling in my blood who, all my… - P. L. Travers

When I write it’s more a process of listening. I don’t pretend that there is some spirit standing beside me that tells me things. More and more I’ve become convinced that the great treasure to possess is the unknown. I’m going to write, I hope, a lot about that. It’s with my unknowing that I come to the myths. If I came to them knowing, I would have nothing to learn. But I bring my unknowing, which is a tangible thing, a clear space, something that’s been made room for out of the muddle of ordinary psychic stuff, an empty space.

A very excellent and worthy person, thoroughly reliable in every particular.

Pooh, he’s a ninkypoop!” “How do you know?” asked Jane, very interested. “I know because I heard Daddy call him one this morning!” said Michael, and he laughed at Andrew very rudely. “He is not a nincompoop,” said Mary Poppins. “And that is that.