You just think lovely wonderful thoughts," Peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air.
He was a poet; and they are never exactly grown-up.
Oh the gladness of their gladness when they're glad, And the sadness of their sadness when they're sad; But the gladness of their gladness, and the sadness of their sadness, Are as nothing to their badness when they're bad
Every time you say you don't believe in fairies, a fairy dies.
Ambition it is the last infirmity of noble minds.
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?