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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.
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
Ought
Written
Splash
Years
Wendy
Ink
Rolled
Golden
Daughter
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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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It may have been quixotic, but it was magnificent.
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Some day,' said Smee, 'the clock will run down, and then he'll get you.' Hook wetted his dry lips, 'Aye,' he said, 'that's the fear that haunts me.
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He was a poet and they are never exactly grown-up.
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There is a saying in the Neverland that,every time you breathe, a grown-up dies.
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She's awfully fond of Wendy,' he said to himself. He was angry with her now for not seeing why she could not have Wendy. The reason was so simple: 'I'm fond of her too. We can't both have her, lady.
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Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning.
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I bowl so slowly that if I don't like a ball I can run after it and bring it back
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You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.
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Wendy: Sir, you are both ungallant and deficient! Peter: How am I deficient? Wendy: You're just a boy.
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He looked at her uncomfortably blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep.
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If 'Hamlet' had been written in these days it would probably have been called 'The Strange Affair at Elsinore.
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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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Girls are much too clever to fall out of their prams
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After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness no one except Peter.
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All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.
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If he thought at all, but I don't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water.
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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.
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Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.
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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?
James M. Barrie
