Lorax quotes

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.

I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.

I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.

I speak for the trees, for the trees have no voice of their own.

From the rippulous pond, Come the butterfly-mangled, Skinny-kneed turtles, And the whispering humming fish.

I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees, For the trees have no tongues, and I’m asking you, sir – at the top of my lungs – just what do you do?

Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air.

But now, says the Once-ler, now that you’re here, The word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.

I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees (for the trees have no tongues).

It’s not about what it is; it’s about what it can become.

I meant no harm. I most truly did not. But I had to grow bigger. So bigger I got.

Then I hear ‘dop dop’ as it’s falling in line: ‘God, what a chop!’ And at first I just cheer. ‘This is great! I chopped down a Truffula tree! It’s a Thneed!’

I am the Lorax who speaks for the trees, Which you seem to be chopping as fast as you please!

But those trees! Those trees! Those Truffula Trees! All my life I’d been searching for trees such as these.

Business is business! And business must grow, Regardless of crummies in tummies, you know.

They say I’m old-fashioned, and live in the past, But sometimes I think progress progresses too fast!

How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes, or bags!

But I’m also in charge of the brown Bar-ba-loots, Who played in the shade in their Bar-ba-loot suits, And happily lived, eating Truffula Fruits.

You’re glumping the pond where the Humming-Fish hummed! No more can they hum, for their gills are all gummed.

I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.

I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees, For the trees have no tongues, and I’m asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs – that thing! That horrible thing that I see! What’s that thing you’ve made out of my Truffula tree?

And today the trees, and the derryberry tufts, and the butterflys spangle, the air so fresh daft, everyone here is a hog, my dear yes.

I’m sorry what? Say that again?

But there’s no cause for worry. This thing’s just a toy. I bought it. I brought it.

They say I’m old-fashioned, and live in the past, but sometimes I think progress progresses too fast!

Every Which down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot…but the Grinch, who lived just North of Who-ville, did NOT!

But now that you’re here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.

It’s high time you were showed that you really don’t know all there is to be known!

Now, all that the Lorax would say was, ‘Mister!’ He would hit the road with his big moustache flexed. And he’d say, ‘Who are you to make such a tweet?’

Why, I made myself king over all the beasts!

I have no fear of anything…especially things that put people at peril!

Happiness is finding a pencil, pizza with sausage, telling the time.

How true! Yes, how true,

Oh, the things you can find if you don’t stay behind!

I catch ‘em in traps. I shoot ‘em with cans. I hit ‘em with bricks, and I kick ‘em with kicks, and I choke ‘em with strings, and I bash ‘em with bats – and the next day, they’re back, ‘cept a few twisted rats.

Once-ler, you’re making such smogulous smoke! My poor Swomee-Swans…why, they can’t hardly speak!

Then you’re a plant squeezer!

He’s not a lazy bugger, he’s helpful! He ought to be thanked!

Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.

Mister! I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.

The Lorax is great when he lets up for greens.

Oh, dear! It’s sad, it’s too sad!

The old Lorax, he lifted himself by the seat of his pants, so to speak. (It’s quite a feat, how he wrinkled and whiffed, how he vaulted himself high in the air and went flying back through the hole in the smog, without leaving a scratch).

Our lives are too short to be something that other folks should

Now all that the Lorax would say was, ‘Mister!’ He would hit the road with his big mustache flexed, And he’d say, ‘Who are you to make such a tweet?’