The Phantom Tollbooth

by Norton Juster

There was once a boy named Milo who didn’t know what to do with himself—not just sometimes, but always.

first sentence

(for while he was never anxious to be where he was going, he liked to get there as quickly as possible)

+1

“From 6:00 to 7:00 we dillydally.

Dillying is my fav

one of the nicest things about mathematics, or anything else you might care to learn, is that many of the things which can never be, often are. You see,” he went on, “it’s very much like your trying to reach Infinity. You know that it’s there, but you just don’t know where—but just because you can never reach it doesn’t mean that it’s not worth looking for.”

ew

“My goodness,” thought Milo, “everybody is so terribly sensitive about the things they know best.”

When my father and grandfather committed acts of punmanship, they were often, generally by the women at the table or in the car with them, begged if not ordered to cease at once. Maybe puns are a guy thing—I don’t know. I can’t see how anybody who claims to love language can fail to marvel at the beautiful slipperiness of meaning that puns, like aquarium nets, momentarily catch and bring shimmering to the surface. Puns act to shatter or at least compromise meaning; a pun condenses unrelated, even opposing, meanings, like a collapsing dwarf star, into a singularity. Maybe it’s this antisemantic vandalism that leads so many people to shun and revile them.

yeah puns are TOTALLY a guy thing!!! women just don't get humor that's for sure