Our life is a book to which we add daily, until suddenly we are finished, and then the manuscript is burned.

Oh, the cleverness of me!

May God blast anyone who writes a biography of me.

A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.

If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness; then if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape, and the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on fire.

Can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?" Nothing, precious," she said; "they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children.

You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls.