Twenty-five years ago, Robert Fulghum published a simple credo—a credo that became the phenomenal #1 New York Times bestseller All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten . Today, after being embraced around the world and selling more than seven million copies, Fulghum’s book retains the potency of a common though no less relevant piece of wisdom: that the most basic aspects of life bear its most important opportunities.

Here Fulghum engages us with musings on life, death, love, pain, joy, sorrow, and the best chicken-fried steak in the continental United States. The little seed in the Styrofoam cup offers a reminder about our own mortality and the delicate nature of life . . . a spider who catches (and loses) a full-grown woman in its web one fine morning teaches us about surviving catastrophe . . . the love story of Jean-Francois Pilatre and his hot-air balloon reminds us to be brave and unafraid to “fly” . . . life lessons hidden in the laundry pile . . . magical qualities found in a box of crayons . . . hide-and-seek vs. sardines—and how these games relate to the nature of God. All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten is brimming with the very stuff of life and the significance found in the smallest details.

In the editions since the first publication of this book, Robert Fulghum has had some time to ponder, to reevaluate, and to reconsider, adding fresh thoughts on classic topics including, after twenty-five years, a short new Introduction.

Perhaps in today’s chaotic, more challenging world, these essays on life will resonate even more deeply—as readers discover how universal insights can be found in ordinary events.

Praise for All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

“A healthy antidote to the horrors that pummel us in this dicey age.”—Baltimore Sun

“Within simplicity lies the sublime.”— San Francisco Chronicle

“It is interesting how much of it applies not only to individuals, grown or small, but even to nations.”—New York Daily News

“As universal as fresh air and invigorating as the fragrance of a Douglas fir.”— Los Angeles Times