astonishing splashes of colour

Years rolled on again, and Wendy had a daughter. This ought not to be written in ink but in a golden splash.

To die will be an awfully big adventure.

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?

One's religion is whatever he is most interested in.

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.

Ambition it is the last infirmity of noble minds.