I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be?

Boy, why are you crying?

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.

There are many different kinds of bravery. There's the bravery of thinking of others before one's self. Now, your father has never brandished a sword nor fired a pistol, thank heavens. But he has made many sacrifices for his family, and put away many dreams... He put them in a drawer. And sometimes, late at night, we take them out and admire them. But it gets harder and harder to close the drawer... He does. And that is why he is brave.

The difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe, while to hime make-believe and true were exactly the same thing. This sometimes troubled them, as when they had to make-believe that they had had their dinners.

I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us.

You just think lovely wonderful thoughts," Peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air.