Some of my plays peter out and some pan out.

Fame is rot; daughters are the thing.

Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.

Again came that ringing crow, and Peter dropped in front of them. "Greeting, boys," he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then again was silence. He frowned. "I am back," he said hotly, "why do you not cheer?

He was never more sinister than when he was most polite.

Stars are beautiful, but they may not take part in anything, they must just look on forever.

Why can't you fly now, mother?" "Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way." "Why do they forget the way?" "Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly.