Two is the beginning of the end.
Of course the Neverlands vary a good deal.
It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly.
I think I love you in my own way, but I thought I loved you in their way, and it is the only way that counts in this world of theirs.
No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot it. I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest.
How clever I am,′ he crowed rapturously, ’oh, the cleverness of me!
It is a blessing that he did not know, for otherwise he would have lost faith in his power to fly, and the moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.
We were having another look among the bushes for David’s lost worsted ball, and instead of the ball we found a lovely nest made of the worsted, and containing four eggs, with scratches on them very like David’s handwriting, so we think they must have been the mother’s love-letters to the little ones inside.
Never, never!” she answered with conviction, “he would have been afraid.” “What is afraid?” asked Peter longingly. He thought it must be some splendid thing. “I do wish you would teach me how to be afraid, Maimie,” he said.
I am youth. I am joy. I am freedom!” said Peter Pan.
It was because I heard father and mother,′ he explained in a low voice, ‘talking about what I was to be when I became a man.’ He was extraordinarily agitated now. ‘I don’t want ever to be a man,’ he said with passion. ‘I want always to be a little boy and to have fun.
I can give you the power to fly to her house,” the Queen said, “but I can’t open the door for you.
The way Mr. Darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her.
For, to a child, the oddest of things, and the most richly coloured picture-book, is that his mother was once a child also.
Mrs. Darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a brussels sprout was missing; but by and by whole cauliflowers dropped out, and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces. She drew them when she should have been totting up. They were Mrs. Darling’s guesses.
It was the work of one brutal moment to land the beautiful girl on the rock; she was too proud to offer a vain resistance.
Nunca comprendemos lo poco que necesitamos en este mundo hasta que lo perdemos.
Why, what is the matter, father dear?′ ‘Matter!’ he yelled; he really yelled. ‘This tie, it will not tie.
Peter became very clever at helping the birds to build their nests; soon he could build better than a wood-pigeon, and nearly as well as a blackbird, though never did he satisfy the finches, and he made nice little water-troughs near the nests and dug up worms for the young ones with his fingers. He also became very learned in bird-lore, and knew an east wind from a west wind by its smell, and he could see the grass growing and hear the insects walking about inside the tree-trunks.
They were his dogs snapping at him, but, tragic figure though he had become, he scarcely heeded them. Against such fearful evidence it was not their belief in him that he needed, it was his own. He felt his ego slipping from him.