I remember when I was a kid in school and teachers would explain things to me about what I read, and I'd think, Where did they get that? I didn't read that in there. Later you look at it and think, That's kind of an interesting idea.

But I find the best things I do, I do when I'm trying to avoid doing something else I'm supposed to be doing. You know, you're working on something. You get bugged, or you lose your enthusiasm or something. So you turn to something else with an absolute vengeance.

And when I'm writing, I write a lot anyway. I might write pages and pages of conversation between characters that don't necessarily end up in the book, or in the story I'm working on, because they're simply my way of getting to know the characters.

I think kids slowly begin to realize that what they're learning relates to other things they know. Then learning starts to get more and more exciting.

People always ask about my influences, and they cite a bunch of people I've never heard of.

There was once a boy named Milo who didn’t know what to do with himself – not just sometimes, but always. When he was in school he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he’d bothered. Nothing really interested him – least of all the things that should have.

You’d have to say Robert plus John equals four, and if the four’s name were Albert, things would be hopeless.

Alec drew a fine telescope from his shirt and handed it to Milo. “Carry this with you on your journey,” he said softly, “for there is much worth noticing that often escapes the eye. Through it you can see everything from the tender moss in a sidewalk crack to the glow of the farthest star – and, most important of all, you can see things as they really are, not just as they seem to be. It’s my gift to you.

You see, years ago I was just an ordinary bee minding my own business, smelling flowers all day, and occasionally picking up part-time work in people’s bonnets. Then one day I realized that I’d never amount to anything without an education and, being naturally adept at spelling, I decided that –.

BOSH!” replied the Humbug. “We’re an old and noble family, honorable to the core – Insecticus humbugium, if I may use the Latin.