He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.
A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.
One's religion is whatever he is most interested in.
Boy, why are you crying?
Dreams do come true, if we only wish hard enough.
The Elizabethan age might be better named the beginning of the smoking era.