The Phantom Tollbooth Quotes
@phantomtollbot.bsky.social
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Words and numbers are of equal value, for, in the cloak of knowledge, one is warp and the other woof. It is no more important to count the sands than it is to name the stars. — To read all its wit and wisdom, get a copy from a local bookstore or library.
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phantomtollbot.bsky.social
“Why, did you know that if a beaver two feet long with a tail a foot and a half long can build a dam twelve feet high and six feet wide in two days, all you would need to build Boulder Dam is a beaver sixty-eight feet long with a fifty-one-foot tail?"
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"My angles are many.
My sides are not few.
I'm the Dodecahedron.
Who are you?"

"What's a Dodecahedron?" inquired Milo, who was barely able to pronounce the strange word.

"See for yourself," he said, turning around slowly. "A Dodecahedron is a mathematical shape with twelve faces."
The dodecahedron: a man in court attire, wearing a beret, but whose head is shaped like a dodecahedron, with one face (eyes, nose, mouth) on each side.
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"Let's travel by miles," advised the Humbug; "it's shorter."
"Let's travel by half inches," suggested Milo; "it's quicker."

DIGITOPOLIS
5 Miles
1,600 Rods
8,800 Yards
26,400 Feet
316,800 Inches
633,600 Half inches
AND THEN SOME
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
“From now on I'm going to have a very good reason before I make up my mind about anything. You can lose too much time jumping to Conclusions."
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"I don't like to get wet," moaned the unhappy bug, and he shuddered at the thought.

"Neither do they," said Canby sadly. "That's what keeps them here. But I wouldn't worry too much about it, for you can swim all day in the Sea of Knowledge and still come out completely dry. Most people do.”
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"You're on the Island of Conclusions. Make yourself at home. You're apt to be here for some time."

"But how did we get here?" asked Milo, who was still a bit puzzled by being there at all.

"You jumped, of course," explained Canby. "That's the way most everyone gets here."
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"It's really very simple," said the Humbug, twirling his cane.

"If everything you say is true," added Tock.

"Then, without a doubt," Milo concluded brightly, "you must be Canby."

"Of course, yes, of course," the man shouted. "Why didn't I think of that? I'm as happy as can be."
A man in a tweed blazer and a funny cap, laying on his back, curing up and grabbing his shoe
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"It certainly couldn't be a nicer day," agreed Milo, who was too busy looking at the road to see that the others had gone. And in a split second he was gone also.
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"And we'll have plenty of time," answered Tock, who hadn't noticed that the bug was missing-and he, too, suddenly leaped into the air and disappeared.
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"Nothing can possibly go wrong now," cried the Humbug happily and as soon as he'd said it he leaped from the car, as if stuck by a pin, and sailed all the way to the little island.
The Humbug, flying through the air away from the car and towards an island
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
“Here are street noises at night, train whistles a long way off, dry leaves burning, busy department stores, crunching toast, creaking bedsprings, and, of course, all kinds of laughter. There's a little of each, and in far-off lonely places I think you'll be glad to have them."
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
Milo stood on tiptoe, leaned over into the cannon's mouth, and parted his lips. The small sound dropped silently to the bottom and everything was ready. In another moment the fuse was lit and sputtering.
Milo whispers the word “but” into a cannon
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"Right over here-we weave it on our looms. Symphonies are the large beautiful carpets with all the rhythms and melodies woven in. Concertos are these tapestries, and all the other bolts of cloth are serenades, waltzes, overtures, and rhapsodies."
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"Do you know what a handclap looks like?"

Milo shook his head.

"Try it," she commanded.

He clapped his hands once and a single sheet of clean white paper fluttered to the floor. He tried it three more times and three more sheets of paper did the very same thing.
Milo, clapping, with sheets of paper in the air all around him.
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
or the expectant pause in a roomful of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you're all alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful, if you listen carefully."
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn?" she inquired. "Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven't the answer to a question you've been asked, or the hush of a country road at night,
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"Isn't that lovely? It's my favorite program-fifteen minutes of silence-and after that there's a half hour of quiet and then an interlude of lull. Why, did you know that there are almost as many kinds of stillness as there are sounds? But, sadly enough, no one pays any attention to them these days.”
The Soundkeeper: a woman sitting in a chair, with a tall pointy hat, listening to a speaker with a bunch of dials and knobs below it.
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
Within a few minutes he stood bravely at the fortress door. "Knock, knock," he wrote neatly on a piece of paper, which he pushed under the crack. In a moment the great portal swung open
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"People laughed less and grumbled more, sang less and shouted more, and the sounds they made grew louder and uglier. It became difficult to hear even the birds or the breeze, and soon everyone stopped listening for them."
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
He paused again as a tear of longing rolled from cheek to lip with the sweet-salty taste of an old memory.
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"She provided us with all the sound we could possibly use: for singing as we worked, for bubbling pots of stew, for the chop of an ax and the crash of a tree, for the creak of a hinge and the hoot of an owl, for the squish of a shoe in the mud and the friendly tapping of rain on the roof”
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
When the car had stopped, one of them held up a placard which said: "WELCOME TO THE VALLEY OF SOUND." And the others cheered as loudly as possible, which was not very loud at all.
A crowd of people holding placards and banners reading “down with silence,” “all quiet is no diet,” “it’s laudable to be audible,” and “sound for all”
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
At first it was difficult to tell just what had changed—it all looked the same and it all smelled the same—but, for some reason, nothing sounded the same.

"I wonder what's happened?" said Milo. At least that's what he tried to say, for, although his lips moved, not a sound came from his mouth.
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"You mean you've never met the awful DYNNE before?" said Dr. Dischord in a surprised tone.

"Why, I thought everyone had. When you're playing in your room and making a great amount of noise, what do they tell you to stop?"

"That awful din," admitted Milo.
Milo and the DYNNE, a semi-humanoid smoke cloud, doubled over in laughter
phantomtollbot.bsky.social
"Of course not," replied the doctor, pouring himself a small glass of the liquid; "that's what makes it so difficult to cure. I only treat illnesses that don't exist: that way, if I can't cure them, there's no harm done-just one of the precautions of the trade."
Kakofonous A Dischord, Doctor of Dissonance. A man with giant ears, a stethoscope, and a lab coat.