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All children, except one, grow up.

James M. Barrie

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James M. Barrie
Age: 77 †
Born: 1860
Born: May 9
Died: 1937
Died: June 19
Journalist
Librettist
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
the United States of America
James Matthew Barrie
J.M. Barrie
Sir James Matthew Barrie
1st Baronet
James Barrie
JM Barrie
James M. Barrie
Except
Grow
Grows
Children

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Our life is a book to which we add daily, until suddenly we are finished, and then the manuscript is burned.
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I know not, sir, whether Bacon wrote the works of Shakespeare, but if he did not, it seems to me that he missed the opportunity of his life.
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I think it's perfectly lovely the way you talk about girls.
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Fairies don’t live long, but they are so little that a short time seems a good while to them
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I know, I feel, that with the introduction of tobacco England woke up from a long sleep. Suddenly a new zest had been given to life. The glory of existence became a thing to speak of. Men who had hitherto only concerned themselves with the narrow things of home put a pipe into their mouths and became philosophers.
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The gates of heaven are so easily found when we are little, and they are always standing open to let children wander in.
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I am not young enough to know everything.
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We have a right to know the truth no right to ask anything else from God, but the right to know that.
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Wise children always choose a mother who was a shocking flirt in her maiden days, and so had several offers before she accepted their fortunate papa.
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I am aware that those hateful persons called Original Researchers now maintain that Raleigh was not the man but to them I turn a deaf ear.
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She was not a little girl heart-broken about him she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet smiles.
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All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.
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Years rolled on again, and Wendy had a daughter. This ought not to be written in ink but in a golden splash.
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This meal happened to be a make-believe tea, and they sat round the board guzzling in their greed and really, what with their chatter and recriminations, the noise, as Wendy said, was positively deafening.
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Our heroine knew that the mother would always leave the window open for her children to fly back by so they stayed away for years and had a lovely time.
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What a polite game tennis is. The chief word in it seems to be sorry and admiration of each other's play crosses the net as frequently as the ball.
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I sometimes think, Mary, that it is a mistake to have a dog for a nurse.
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In love-making, as in other arts, those who do it best cannot tell how it is done.
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Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet, but he never came. Perhaps he is ill, Michael said. You know he is never ill. Michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, Perhaps there is no such person, Wendy! and then Wendy would have cried if Michael had not been cry
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I do believe in fairies, I do, I do.
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