I make a point of writing, if only a little, every day, as a kind of discipline so that it is not a whim but a piece of work. - P. L. Travers

I think if she comes from anywhere that has a name, it is out of myth. And myth has been my study and joy ever since — oh, the age, I would think . . . of three. I’ve studied it all my life. No culture can satisfactorily move along its forward course without its myths, which are its teachings, its fundamental dealing with the truth of things, and the one reality that underlies everything.

What were they doing now, at Miss Lark’s? she wondered. Playing with Miss Lark’s dogs, perhaps, and listening to Miss Lark telling them that Andrew had a wonderful pedigree but that Willoughby was half an Airedale and half a Retriever and the worst half of both. And presently they would all, even the dogs, have chocolate biscuits and walnut cake for tea.

Care killed a cat,” snapped Mary Poppins. “I wasn’t caring, I was only wondering,” corrected Michael.