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Carlo Collodi

The Adventures of Pinocchio

  • Ülviyye İbrahimovahas quoted4 years ago
    Centuries ago there lived—

    "A king!" my little readers will say immediately.

    No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood.
  • Linh Maihas quotedlast year
    When poverty shows itself, even mischievous boys understand what it means.
  • Linh Maihas quotedlast year
    in the nick of time
  • Anne Krathhas quotedlast year
    Pinocchio did not eat; he devoured.
  • Anne Krathhas quotedlast year
    To speak sensibly, I think assassins have been invented by fathers and mothers to frighten children who want to run away at night.
  • b5296714711has quotedlast year
    He turned frightened eyes about the room to find out where that wee, little voice had come from and he saw no one! He looked under the bench—no one! He peeped inside the closet—no one! He searched among the shavings—no one! He opened the door to look up and down the street—and still no one!

    "Oh, I see!" he then said, laughing and scratching his Wig. "It can easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words! Well, well—to work once more."

    He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.

    "Oh, oh! You hurt!" cried the same far-away little voice.

    Mastro Cherry grew dumb, his eyes popped out of his head, his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.

    As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said, trembling and stuttering from fright:

    "Where did that voice come from, when there is no one around? Might it be that this piece of wood has learned to weep and cry like a child? I can hardly believe it. Here it is—a piece of common firewood, good only to burn in the stove, the same as any other. Yet—might someone be hidden in it? If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!"

    With these words, he grabbed the log with both hands and started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls of the room, and even up to the ceiling.

    He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry. He waited two minutes—nothing; five minutes—nothing; ten minutes—nothing.

    "Oh, I see," he said, trying bravely to laugh and ruffling up his wig with his hand. "It can easily be seen I only imagined I heard the tiny voice! Well, well—to work once more!"

    The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he tried to sing a gay song in order to gain courage.

    He set aside the hatchet and picked up the plane to make the wood smooth and even, but as he drew it to and fro, he heard the same tiny voice. This time it giggled as it spoke:

    "Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach."
  • b8883999171has quoted2 years ago
    he was splashed with mud even up to his cap.
  • b8883999171has quoted2 years ago
    Tormented by the wish to see his father and his fairy sister with azure hair, he raced like a greyhound
  • Menna Abu Zahrahas quoted2 years ago
    His real name was Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him Mastro Cherry, for the tip of his nose was so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry.
  • Menna Abu Zahrahas quoted2 years ago
    I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old carpenter.
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