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How shall we ever know if it's morning if there's no servant to pull up the blinds?
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
Shall
Morning
Ever
Blinds
Pull
Servant
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The man of science appears to be the only man who has something to say just now, and the only man who does not know how to say it.
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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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You just think lovely wonderful thoughts, Peter explained, and they lift you up in the air.
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Always be kinder than necessary.
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If you cannot teach me to fly, teach me to sing.
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What is algebra exactly is it those three-cornered things?
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There is a saying in the Neverland that,every time you breathe, a grown-up dies.
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Young boys should never be sent to bed. They always wake up a day older.
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She adored all beautiful things in their every curve and fragrance, so that they became part of her. Day by day, she gathered beauty had she had no heart (she who was the bosom of womanhood) her thoughts would still have been as lilies, because the good is the beautiful.
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He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.
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They were going round and round the island, but they did not meet because all were going at the same rate.
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Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying, To die will be an awfully big adventure.
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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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Forever is a very long time Peter
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The best of our fiction is by novelists who allow that it is as good as they can give, and the worst by novelists who maintain that they could do much better if only the public would let them.
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Second to the right, and straight on till morning.' That, Peter had told Wendy, was the way to the Neverland but even birds, carrying maps and consulting them at windy corners, could not have sighted it with these instructions. Peter, you see, just said anything that came into his head.
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Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: always to try to be a little kinder than is necessary?
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We are all failures - at least the best of us are.
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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
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