“Words,” he said, “is oh such a twitch-tickling problem to me all my life. So you must simply try to be patient and stop squibbling. As I am telling you before, I know exactly what words I am wanting to say, but somehow or other they is always getting squiffs-quiddled around.”
“That happens to everyone,” Sophie said.
“Not like it happens to me,” the B.F.G. said. “I is speaking the most terrible wigglish.”
“I think you speak beautifully,” Sophie said.
“You do?” cried the B.F.G., suddenly brightening. “You really do?”
“Simply beautifully,” Sophie repeated.
“Well that is the nicest present anyone is ever giving me in my whole life!” cried the B.F.G. “Are you sure you is not twiddling my leg?”
“Of course not,” Sophie said. “I just love the way you talk.
“How wondercrump!” cried the B.F.G., still beaming. “How whoopsy-splunkers. How absolutely squiffling! I is all of a stutter.”
--The B.F.G.
I used to love that book and Danny, the Champion of the World. James and the Giant Peach was one that I very much imagined myself in. And of course there's Witches. I miss that ability to disappear into a realm of (mostly) sympathetic magic.
