All Children, Except One, Grow Up.

They Knew In What They Called Their Hearts That One Can Get On Quite Well Without A Mother, And That It Is Only The Mothers Who Think You Can't.

Love, It Is Said, Is Blind, But Love Is Not Blind. It Is An Extra Eye, Which Shows Us What Is Most Worthy Of Regard. To See The Best Is To See Most Clearly, And It Is The Lover's Privilege.

He Was Never More Sinister Than When He Was Most Polite.

She Liked His Tears So Much That She Put Out Her Beautiful Finger And Let Them Run Over It. Her Voice Was So Low That At First He Could Not Make Out What She Said. Then He Made It Out. She Was Saying That She Thought She Could Get Well Again If Children Believed In Fairies.

Because You See When A New Baby Laughs For The First Time A New Fairy Is Born, And As There Are Always New Babies There Are Always New Fairies. They Live In Nests On The Tops Of Trees; And The Mauve Ones Are Boys And The White Ones Are Girls, And The Blue Ones Are Just Little Sillies Who Are Not Sure What They Are.