When I’m lonely, which is not nearly as often as before, I talk to him and he actually hears me. Because BFG hears all the secret whisperings of the world.

There’s only one word for that, Majester. Scrumdiddlyumptious.

Your Majester, I is your humbug servant.

No. Not in a month of Mondays, girl.

Words. They’s all such a twitch-tickling problem to me all my life. I knows exactly what words I want to say but somehow or other they all comes out squiff-squiddled ’round.