You just think lovely wonderful thoughts," Peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air.
I bowl so slowly that if I don't like a ball I can run after it and bring it back
He was a poet; and they are never exactly grown-up.
Heaven for climate, Hell for company.
A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.
The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.