Again Came That Ringing Crow, And Peter

Oh, You Mysterious Girls, When You Are Fifty-two We Shall Find You Out; You Must Come Into The Open Then. If The Mouth Has Fallen Sourly Yours The Blame: All The Meanness Your Youth Concealed Have Been Gathering In Your Face. But The Pretty Thoughts And Sweet Ways And Dear, Forgotten Kindnesses Linger There Also, To Bloom In Your Twilight Like Evening Primroses.

I've Sometimes Thought . . . That The Difference Between Us And The English Is That The Scotch Are Hard In All Other Respects But Soft With Women, And The English Are Hard With Women But Soft In All Other Respects.

Peter Was Not With Them For The Moment, And They Felt Rather Lonely Up There By Themselves. He Could Go So Much Faster Than They That He Would Suddenly Shoot Out Of Sight, To Have Some Adventure In Which They Had No Share. He Would Come Down Laughing Over Something Fearfully Funny He Had Been Saying To A Star, But He Had Already Forgotten What It Was, Or He Would Come Up With Mermaid Scales Still Sticking To Him, And Yet Not Be Able To To Say For Certain What Had Been Happening. It Was Really Rather Irritating To Children Who Had Never Seen A Mermaid.

I Think It's Perfectly Lovely The Way You Talk About Girls.

Astonishing Splashes Of Colour