Horton Hears A Who Quotes

A person's a person, no matter how small.

ASAP. Whatever that means. It must mean, 'Act swiftly awesome pacyderm!

Horton, the kangaroo has sent Vlad!' Vlad? I know two Vlads. One is a cute little bunny that brings me cookies. The other is bad Vlad. Which Vlad?' Which one do you think?' Bad Vlad?' Good call.

This was like no library I had ever seen because, well, there were no books. Actually, I take that back. There was one book, but it was the lobby of the building, encased in a heavy glass box like a museum exhibit. I figured this was a book that was here to remind people of the past and the way things used to be. As I walked over to it, I wondered what would be one book chosen to take this place of honor. Was it a dictionary? A Bible? Maybe the complete works of Shakespeare or some famous poet. "Green Eggs and Ham?" Gunny said with surprise. "What kind of doctor writes about green eggs and ham?" "Dr. Seuss," I answered with a big smile on my face. "It's my favorite book of all time." Patrick joined us and said, "We took a vote. It was pretty much everybody's favorite. Landslide victory. I'm partial to Horton Hears A Who, but this is okay too." The people of Third Earth still had a sense of humor.

When at last we are sure You’ve been properly pilled, Then a few paper forms Must be properly filled So that you and your heirs May be properly billed.

This," cried the Mayor, "is your town's darkest hour! The time for all Whos who have blood that is red To come to the aid of their country!" he said. "We've GOT to make noises in greater amounts! So, open your mouth, lad! For every voice counts!

What terrible splashing!’ the elephant frowned. ‘I can’t let my very small persons get drowned. I’ve GOT to protect them. I’m bigger than they.

Do you see what I mean?… They’ve proved they ARE persons, no matter how small, And their whole world was saved by the Smallest of All!

Please don’t harm all my little folks, who Have as much right to live as us bigger folks do!

A person’s a person, no matter how small! And you very small persons will NOT have to die If you make yourselves heard! So come on, now, and TRY!

Should I put this speck down…?’ Horton thought with alarm. ‘If I do, these small persons may come to great harm. I CAN’T put it down. And I WON’T! After all, A person’s a person. No matter how small.

What are human murmurations, I wondered? They are, speaking of choruses, in Horton Hears a Who, the tiny Whos of Whoville, who find that if every last one of them raises their voice, they become loud enough to save their home. They are a million-and-a-half young people across the globe, on March 15, 2019, protesting climate change; coalitions led by First Nations people, holding back fossil fuel pipelines across Canada; the lawyers and others who converged on airports all over the US on January 29, 2017, to protest the Muslim ban.

Of course,’ Horton answered. ‘Of course I will stick. I’ll stick by you small folks through thin and through thick!

I’ll text my bounty hunter. But his nuts are so small, it’s going be like Horton Hears a Who to find them.

Some poor little person who’s shaking with fear That he’ll blow in the pool! He’s no way to steer! I’ll just have to save him. Because, after all, A person’s a person, no matter how small.

If I do not procure the edification of those who hear me, I am a sacrilege, profaning God’s Word.” Edification is central to proper preaching: “For God will have his people edified. . . . When we come together in the name of God, it is not to hear merry songs and to be fed with wind, that is vain and unprofitable curiosity, but to receive spiritual nourishment.

There was a small public library on Ninety-third and Hooper. Mrs. Stella Keaton was the librarian. We’d known each other for years. She was a white lady from Wisconsin. Her husband had a fatal heart attack in ’34 and her two children died in a fire the year after that. Her only living relative had been an older brother who was stationed in San Diego with the navy for ten years. After his discharge he moved to L.A. When Mrs. Keaton had her tragedies he invited her to live with him. One year after that her brother, Horton, took ill, and after three months he died spitting up blood, in her arms. All Mrs. Keaton had was the Ninety-third Street branch. She treated the people who came in there like her siblings and she treated the children like her own. If you were a regular at the library she’d bake you a cake on your birthday and save the books you loved under the front desk. We were on a first-name basis, Stella and I, but I was unhappy that she held that job. I was unhappy because even though Stella was nice, she was still a white woman. A white woman from a place where there were only white Christians. To her Shakespeare was a god. I didn’t mind that, but what did she know about the folk tales and riddles and stories colored folks had been telling for centuries? What did she know about the language we spoke? I always heard her correcting children’s speech. “Not ‘I is,’ she’d say. “It’s ‘I am.’” And, of course, she was right. It’s just that little colored children listening to that proper white woman would never hear their own cadence in her words. They’d come to believe that they would have to abandon their own language and stories to become a part of her educated world. They would have to forfeit Waller for Mozart and Remus for Puck. They would enter a world where only white people spoke. And no matter how articulate Dickens and Voltaire were, those children wouldn’t have their own examples in the house of learning—the library.

Questions are a child’s way of expressing love and trust. They are a child’s way of starting a conversation. So instead of simply insisting over and over again that the object of my son’s attention is, in fact, an elephant, I might tell him about how, in India, elephants are symbols of good luck, or about how some say elephants have the best memories of all the animals. I might tell him about the time I saw an elephant spin a basketball on the tip of his trunk, or about how once there was an elephant named Horton who heard a Who. I might tell him that once upon a time, there was an elephant and four blind men; each man felt a different part of the elephant’s body: the ears, the tail, the side, and the tusk . . . Sometimes, as I’m doing this, my son will crawl into my lap, put his head on my chest, and just listen to the story, his questions quieted, his body relaxed. And I realize this is all he wanted to begin with—to be near me, to hear the familiar cadence of my voice, to know he’s safe and not alone.

All it takes for us to be guilty of theft is one misspent hour at work; one item we “forgot” to return from the office; one personal long-distance phone call we made at the company’s expense; one overpriced item in our store. We see our sinless Lord, crucified for thieves not unlike the one hanging next to Him. Here was one person who never took what did not belong to Him, and who fulfilled all His obligations and paid debts He did not owe, and yet He hangs here next to a common thief, bearing His shame and guilt before God as though He had committed the crime. The thief crucified next to our Lord may have experienced the wrath of Rome that dark Friday afternoon, but because of the crucifixion of a Man just feet from him, he would not have to endure the wrath of heaven. All thieves who trust in Christ can expect to hear those same words on their death-bed from the spotless Lamb: “Today you shall be with me in Paradise.

Jerome does not condemn singing absolutely, but he corrects those who sing theatrically, or who sing not in order to arouse devotion but to show off or to provoke pleasure. Hence Augustine says, When it happens that I am more moved by the voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned, and then I would rather not hear the singer. Arousing men to devotion through preaching and teaching

Jerome does not condemn singing absolutely, but he corrects those who sing theatrically, or who sing not in order to arouse devotion but to show off or to provoke pleasure. Hence Augustine says, When it happens that I am more moved by the voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned, and then I would rather not hear the singer. Arousing men to devotion through preaching and teaching is a more excellent way than through singing.

Christians today are often encouraged to obey God so that they can get something out of it. “If I do this, God will do that,” many reason. But Luther insisted that the gospel—including the part about human helplessness and God’s omnipotent grace—needs to be so clearly preached that those who hear it will not need to be coaxed, harassed, or frightened into obedience. The gospel, not bare commands, is the motivation for thanksgiving. If we are unclear about this point, we cannot have thankful hearts.

If I start bad-mouthing his wife, who is it fixing to get hurt when they get back together?” [Margy, Russ’s mum] “You think they’re going to get back together?” [Janet, Russ’s sister] “I’d like to think . . .” Her voice trailed off. Even with the last turn of the stairs and the living room between them, Russ could hear his mother sigh. “Your brother is the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a real-life Horton the Elephant. He meant what he said and he said what he meant . . .” “An elephant’s faithful one hundred percent,” Janet finished the quote. Great. His entire personality could be summed up by Dr. Seuss.

In 1955, the year my mom was pregnant with me, Bertolt Brecht voted Mao Zedong’s essay “On Contradiction” the “best book” he had read in the past twelve months, a period of time that saw the publication of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, Kingsley Amis’s Lucky Jim, Sloan Wilson’s The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit, J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who! Mao…a guy who never brushed his teeth, who just rinsed his mouth out with tea when he woke up…who, according to his personal physician, Li Zhisui, never cleaned his genitals. Instead, Mao said, “I wash myself inside the bodies of my women.” The Imaginary Intern and I were great admirers of Mao’s Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art and we diligently tried to apply his dictum “Discard what is backward and develop what is revolutionary” to the production of Gone with the Mind, and although I agree with Mao that one should bathe infrequently, and that when one does, one should use the vaginal flora of other creatures instead of soap, I subscribe unswervingly to the conviction that a gentleman should never go out in public at night without pomaded hair and heavy cologne…

Most people I think feel exterior-wise Churches, unless we yell like 'horton hears a who' that all us "speck of dust" are the same