There is a saying in the Neverland that,every time you breathe, a grown-up dies.

In dinner talk it is perhaps allowable to fling any faggot rather than let the fire go out.

On these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.

All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder… or forgetful.

If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up! Not me!

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.