For when you looked into my mother's eyes you knew, as if He had told you, why God sent her into the world - it was to open then minds of all who looked to beautiful thoughts. And that is the beginning and end of literature.

Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.

Forget not your past, for in the future it may help you grow

Fairies don’t live long, but they are so little that a short time seems a good while to them

I think it's perfectly lovely the way you talk about girls.

Some of my plays peter out and some pan out.

Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet, but he never came. "Perhaps he is ill," Michael said. "You know he is never ill." Michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, "Perhaps there is no such person, Wendy!" and then Wendy would have cried if Michael had not been crying.