Tigger Quotes

Oh Tigger, where are your manners?" "I don’t know, but I bet they’re having more fun than I am.

Just because an animal is large, it doesn't mean he doesn't want kindness; however big Tigger seems to be, remember that he wants as much kindness as Roo.

Are you a Tigger or an Eyore?

No wonder Barrons was so determined to keep me alive, and I had a Fae prince playing lapdog, and the Lord Master hadn't yet launched a full scale attack against me. They all needed me alive. I was Tigger. I was the only one.

I didn't bounce, I coughed," said Tigger crossly. "Bouncy or coffy, it's all the same at the bottom of the river.

The major lesson Tiggers need to learn is that if they don't control their impulses, their impulses will control them. No matter how much they do, Tiggers are never satisfied because they don't know the feeling of accomplishment that eventually comes when one persistently applies one's will to the attaining of non-immediately-reachable goals.

Each of us must decide: Am I a fun-loving Tigger or am I a sad-sack Eeyore? Pick a camp.

Well, look at the other characters in Winnie the Pooh. They all actually demonstrate that Pooh is the most mentally balanced. There’s Tigger, I mean, that tiger just can’t stay in the moment and enjoy it. He’s too much of a hedonist; he always wants the next adventure. That’s not healthy, he’ll burn out.” I started properly laughing. “And what about Eeyore?” “Well he’s a depressive, isn’t he? If Eeyore walked into my doctor’s office he’d be prescribed with a lifetime supply of antidepressants. And not just because US doctors dole them out like candy canes at Christmas.” The music stopped and I found myself clapping without even looking. “But Pooh?” “Pooh lives in the moment. He doesn’t fret about the past, or freak about the future. He’s an expert at mindfulness.” Kyle

I always get to where I am going by walking away from where I have been.” —Winnie the Pooh

Piglet said that Tigger was very Bouncy, and that if they could think of a way of unbouncing him, it would be a Very Good Idea. "Just what I feel," said Rabbit. "What do you say, Pooh?" Pooh opened his eyes with a jerk and said, "Extremely." "Extremely what?" asked Rabbit. "What you were saying," said Pooh. "Undoubtably.

Well, I've got an idea," said Rabbit, "and here it is. We take Tigger for a long explore, somewhere where he's never been, and we lose him there, and next morning we find him again, and--mark my words--he'll be a different Tigger altogether." "Why?" said Pooh. "Because he'll be a Humble Tigger. Because he'll be a Sad Tigger, a Melancholy Tigger, a Small and Sorry Tigger, an Oh-Rabbit-I-am-glad-to-see-you Tigger. That's why." "Will he be glad to see me and Piglet, too?" "Of course." "That's good," said Pooh. "I should hate him to go on being Sad," said Piglet doubtfully. "Tiggers never go on being Sad," explained Rabbit.

What’s wrong with knowing what you know now and not knowing what you don’t know now until later?” —Winnie the Pooh

Make room for the real important stuff.” —Tigger

How did you fall in, Eeyore?" asked Rabbit, as he dried him with Piglet's handkerchief. "I didn't," said Eeyore. "But how--" "I was BOUNCED," said Eeyore. "Oo," said Roo excitedly, "did somebody push you?" "Somebody BOUNCED me. I was just thinking by the side of the river--thinking, if any of you know what that means--when I received a loud BOUNCE." "Oh, Eeyore!" said everybody. "Are you sure you didn't slip?" asked Rabbit wisely. "Of course I slipped. If you're standing on the slippery bank of a river, and somebody BOUNCES you loudly from behind, you slip. What did you think I did?

For a long time they looked at the river beneath them, saying nothing, and the river said nothing too, for it felt very quiet and peaceful on this summer afternoon. "Tigger is all right really," said Piglet lazily. "Of course he is," said Christopher Robin. "Everybody is really," said Pooh. "That's what I think," said Pooh. "But I don't suppose I'm right," he said. "Of course you are," said Christopher Robin.

If people are upset because you’ve forgotten something, console them by letting them know you didn’t forget — you just weren’t remembering.” —Winnie the Pooh

A little consideration makes all the difference.” —Eeyore

A Weakness of some sort can do you a big favor, if you acknowledge that it's there. The same goes for one's limitations, whether Tiggers know it or not- and Tiggers usually don't. That's the trouble with Tiggers, you know: they can do everything. Very unhealthy.

That's what I call bouncing," said Eeyore. "Taking people by surprise. Very unpleasant habit. I don't mind Tigger being in the Forest," he went on, "because it's a large Forest, and there's plenty of room to bounce in it. But I don't see why he should come into my little corner of it, and bounce there. It isn't as if there was anything very wonderful about my little corner. Of course for people who like cold, wet, ugly bits it is something rather special, but otherwise it's just a corner, and if anybody feels bouncy ---

Roo climbed off, and sat down next to him. “Oo, Tigger,” he said excitedly, “are we at the top?” “No,” said Tigger. “Are we going to the top?” “No,” said Tigger. “Oh,” said Roo rather sadly. And then he went on hopefully: “That was a lovely bit just now, when you pretended we were going to fall-bump-to-the-bottom, and we didn’t. Will you do that bit again?” “NO,” said Tigger. Roo was silent for a little while, and then he said, “Shall we eat our sandwiches, Tigger?” And Tigger said, “Yes, where are they?” And Roo said, “At the bottom of the tree.” And Tigger said, “I don’t think we’d better eat them just yet.” So they didn’t.

If it’s not Here, that means it’s out There. —Winnie the Pooh

Yesterday, when it was tomorrow, it was too exciting a day for me.” —Winnie the Pooh

I am going to keep having fun every day I have left because there is no other way of life. You just have to decide whether you are a Tigger or an Eeyore.

My mum used to call me Tigger,’ she said. ‘She used to say, you’re like Tigger, you are, no matter how hard you fall, you always bounce back.

Being both depressed and anxious is a bit like being Eeyore and Tigger at the same time. It’s like always living a little too low and a little too high. It’s always struggling to be at the level where life happens, which is here and now.

So once upon a time Ed met a girl who was the most optimistic person he had even know. A girl who wore flip-flops in the hope of spring. She seemed to bounce through life like Tigger; the things that would have felled most people didn't seem to touch her. Or if she did fall, she bounced right back. She fell again, plastered on a smile, dusted herself off, and kept going. He never could work out whether it was the single most heroic thing or the most idiotic thing he'd ever seen.

I’m a simple man,” Jack said clearly, Lydia’s hands in his, his eyes never leaving hers. “I like meaningless sex, McDonald’s, fart jokes, Dumb and Dumber, and Top Forty hits I’ll forget a week after they drop off the charts. I cuss like a sailor and I’m an uncultured swine. I don’t slow down, a Tigger in an Eeyore world. But somehow … Somehow, I met—

As I am in favor of human rights, so am I also in favor of animal rights. That’s the way of a whole human being.” -Shenita Etwaroo

Accidents—you never have them till you’re having them.” —Eeyore

It was a gloomy day, gloomy outside and gloomy inside. Nobody felt like having a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. Dawn and I were depressed, Claudia was mad because she’d flunked a spelling test, Mary Anne was upset because her kitten, Tigger, had worms and Stacey was upset because she had a doctor’s appointment coming up and she hates doctor’s appointments.

A child walks in to the living room and asks, “Dad, where does poo come from?” Without wanting to be too explicit the father replies, “Well, first Mommy makes us dinner. Then we eat it. Then the body takes away all the goodness from the food to make us strong. Then we sit on the toilet. What’s left comes out as poo.” Looking horrified the child asks, “But Dad, what about Tigger and Eeyore??

He was the one, however, with whom no one wanted his or her picture taken, the one to whom no one wanted to introduce his son or daughter. Louis and Gage knew him; they had met him and faced him down in New England, some time ago. He was waiting to choke you on a marble, to smother you with a dry-cleaning bag, to sizzle you into eternity with a fast and lethal boggie of electricity—Available at Your Nearest Switchplate or Vacant Light Socket Right Now. There was death in a quarter bag of peanuts, an aspirated piece of steak, the next pack of cigarettes. He was around all the time, he monitored all the checkpoints between the mortal and the eternal. Dirty needles, poison beetles, downed live wires, forest fires. Whirling roller skates that shot nurdy little kids into busy intersections. When you got into the bathtub to take a shower, Oz got right in there too—Shower with a Friend. When you got on an airplane, Oz took your boarding pass. He was in the water you drank, the food you ate. Who’s out there? you howled into the dark when you were frightened and all alone, and it was his answer that came back: Don’t be afraid, it’s just me. Hi, howaya? You got cancer of the bowel, what a bummer, so solly, Cholly! Septicemia! Leukemia! Atherosclerosis! Coronary thrombosis! Encephalitis! Osteomyelitis! Hey-ho, let’s go! Junkie in a doorway with a knife. Phone call in the middle of the night. Blood cooking in battery acid on some exit ramp in North Carolina. Big handfuls of pills, munch em up. That peculiar blue cast of the fingernails following asphyxiation—in its final grim struggle to survive the brain takes all the oxygen that is left, even that in those living cells under the nails. Hi, folks, my name’s Oz the Gweat and Tewwible, but you can call me Oz if you want—hell, we’re old friends by now. Just stopped by to whop you with a little congestive heart failure or a cranial blood clot or something; can’t stay, got to see a woman about a breach birth, then I’ve got a little smoke-inhalation job to do in Omaha. And that thin voice is crying, “I love you, Tigger! I love you! I believe in you, Tigger! I will always love you and believe in you, and I will stay young, and the only Oz to ever live in my heart will be that gentle faker from Nebraska! I love you . . .” We cruise . . . my son and I . . . because the essence of it isn’t war or sex but only that sickening, noble, hopeless battle against Oz the Gweat and Tewwible. He and I, in our white van under this bright Florida sky, we cruise. And the red flasher is hooded, but it is there if we need it . . . and none need know but us because the soil of a man’s heart is stonier; a man grows what he can . . . and tends it.

La muerte podía estar en una bolsa de cacahuetes, en un trozo de carne que se te atravesara, en el siguiente paquete de cigarrillos. Siempre te andaba rondando, de guardia en todas las estaciones de control entre lo mortal y lo eterno. Agujas infectadas, insectos venenosos, cables mal aislados, incendios forestales. Patines que lanzaban a intrépidos chiquillos a cruces muy transitados. Cada vez que te metes en la bañera para darte una ducha, Oz te acompaña: ducha para dos. Cada vez que subes a un avión, Oz lleva tu misma tarjeta de embarque. Está en el agua que bebes y en la comida que comes. «¿Quién anda ahí?», gritas en la oscuridad cuando estás solo y asustado, y es él quien te responde: Tranquilo, soy yo. Eh, ¿cómo va eso? Tienes un cáncer en el vientre, qué lata, chico, sí que lo siento. ¡Cólera! ¡Septicemia! ¡Leucemia! ¡Arteriosclerosis! ¡Trombosis coronaria! ¡Encefalitis! ¡Osteomielitis! ¡Ajajá, vamos allá! Un chorizo en un portal, con una navaja en la mano. Una llamada telefónica a medianoche. Sangre que hierve con ácido de la batería en una rampa de salida de una autopista de Carolina del Norte. Puñados de píldoras: anda, traga. Ese tono azulado de las uñas que sigue a la muerte por asfixia; en su último esfuerzo por aferrarse a la vida, el cerebro absorbe todo el oxígeno que queda en el cuerpo, incluso el de las células vivas que están debajo de las uñas. Hola, chicos, me llamo Oz el Ggande y Teggible, pero podéis llamarme Oz a secas. Al fin y al cabo, somos viejos amigos. Pasaba por aquí y he entrado un momento para traerte este pequeño infarto, este derrame cerebral, etcétera; lo siento, no puedo quedarme, tengo un parto con hemorragia y, luego, inhalación de humo tóxico en Omaha. Y la vocecita sigue gritando: «¡Te quiero, Tigger, te quiero! ¡Creo en ti, Tigger! ¡Siempre te querré y creeré en ti, y seguiré siendo niña, y el único Oz que habitará en mi corazón será ese simpático impostor de Nebraska! Te quiero…». Vamos patrullando, mi hijo y yo…, porque lo que importa no es el sexo ni la guerra, sino la noble y terrible batalla sin esperanza contra Oz, el Ggande y Teggible.

I’ve never been a bouncy Tigger, or a kind and steadfast Piglet. I’m an Eeyore, plain and simple.

Having trouble, Piglet?” “The lid on this jar is stuck,” gasped Piglet. “Yes, it . . . is, isn’t it. Here, Pooh, you open it.” (Pop.) “Thanks, Pooh,” said Piglet. “Nothing, really,” said Pooh. “How did you get that lid off?” asked Tigger. “It’s easy,” said Pooh. “You just twist on it like this, until you can’t twist any harder. Then you take a deep breath and, as you let it out, twist. That’s all.” “Let me try that!” yelled Tigger, bouncing into the kitchen. “Where’s that new jar of pickles? Ah, here it is.” “Tigger,” began Piglet nervously, “I don’t think you’d better—” “Nothing to it,” said Tigger. ‘‘Just twist, and—” CRASH! “All right, Tigger,” I said. “Get those pickles off the floor.” “Slipped out of my paw,” explained Tigger. “He tried too hard,” said Pooh. And when you try too hard, it doesn’t work. Try grabbing something quickly and precisely with a tensed-up arm; then relax and try it again. Try doing something with a tense mind. The surest way to become Tense, Awkward, and Confused is to develop a mind that tries too hard—one that thinks too much. The animals in the Forest don’t think too much; they just Are. But with an overwhelming number of people, to misquote an old Western philosopher, it’s a case of “I think, therefore I am Confused.” If you compare the City with the Forest, you may begin to wonder why it’s man who goes around classifying himself as The Superior Animal.

Gud venter ubevægelig og tavs som en tigger på den, der vil give ham et stykke brød. Tid er Guds venten på vores kærlighed. Stjernerne, bjergene, havet og alt hvad der taler til os i tid, videbringer Guds bøn til os. At spise et stykke brød når man er sulten, er at holde nadver med universet og dets skaber. Og den sjæl der står uden for retfærdigheden, uden for troen, lyver for sig selv. Jordaksen er livets træ, og dets frugter er stjernerne. Den der spiser af solen, lever. Den, der spiser af lyset, lever. Hvis vi som træerne indeholdt klorofyl, ville vi leve af lyset. Kristus er vores klorofyl.

Where did Tigger find Pooh? In the toilet.

The Tigger Journals [10w] "Honestly, I'd rather be alone than with that unbearable Winnie-the-Pooh.

She seemed to bounce through life like Tigger;

Byd Manden paa samme Nadvær til Giæst, Jeg veed dog du hannem behagelig est, Saa lærr I sammen at snorke. Du snuser, hand tygger, saa lever i toe, Som Tiggere begge, med hiertelig Roe, Og ingen kan anden beskylde.

she seemed to bounce through life like Tigger; the things that would have felled most people didn't seem to touch her. Or if she did fall, she bounced right back. She fell again, plastered on a smile, dusted herself down and kept going

Being both depressed and anxious is a bit like being Eeyore and Tigger at the same tine. It's like always living a little too low and a little too high. It's always struggling to be at the level where life happens, which is here and now.

Cat-food breath or not, I was thrilled to have Tigger back - and Logan, too.

And when I went home after the meeting, Tigger would be there to greet me.

-  Why did Tigger stick his head in the toilet? He was looking for Pooh!

The Hundred Acre Wood. It's about acceptance...Piglet and his Anxiety. Rabbit with his OCD rows of carrots...Dyslexic owl and ADHD Tigger. Eeyore and depression. Oh, and don't forget Christopher Robin, the boy whose stuffed animals talk to him. Hello, zschizophrenia!..And they all know Piglet's gonna freak out about the wind. They expect Eeyore to be a dud at the picnic. But they invite him anyway. They help each other, but nobody tries to fix anyone. You're just you and they're just them and that's okay.

inches (right ear) and 13.5 inches (left ear). Sadly, Tigger passed away in 2009, but during his lifetime,

A little girl is in my arms and I am able, to dry her tears, in my tears.

Tiggers never go on being sad.” —Tigger

It’s so much more friendly with two.” —Piglet

Hums aren’t things which you get; they get you.” —Winnie the Pooh

Myriah and Gabbie are really great kids. This is the truth. I knew it from the very first time I baby-sat for them. They adore Laura, their baby sister, they love to sing and dance, and they're very imaginative. Most kids just play house. You should see the games they invent.

Myriah and Gabbie jumped up from the table. "We know White Christmas," said Myriah. "And I'll Be Home for Christmas." Claudia was surprised. They did? What about the simple songs like "Jingle Bells" or "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?" But the Perkins girls know a lot of long, grown-up songs, and sure enough they knew both of these word for word. They performed them with hand motions and everything.

And now," Myriah went on, as if she and Gabbie were putting on a show. "We will perform that oldy but goody, Blue Suede Shoes by Mr. Elvis Presley." Claudia was even more impressed. Apparently, Myriah and Gabbie knew an entire rock and roll song and she didn't. Furthermore, for years, Claudia had thought that the singer's name was Elbow Presley.

Shannon Kilbourne,

Being both depressed and anxious is a bit like being Eeyore and Tigger at the same time.

Oh, Märta, please,” Tigger says. “Your very presence would be an insult to these people. I hate this Scandinavian quality you all have, especially that face you all make when confronted with your own naiveté.” “What face?

Anthony Blunt: His Lives (London, 2001), p. 273. 24 That’s what Tiggers: Ibid. 25 He was a very nice: Andrew, Defence of

That face—the face of fake confusion you hide behind to pretend you don’t even understand me, so that your Scandinavian identity of moral purity is not threatened.” “The Finns are different,” Herb says. “They never speak,” Tigger says. “That’s the old ones. Young ones never shut up. Something’s going on up there.