Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars.
James M. BarrieRead
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.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects on the nostalgia of youth and the inevitability of growing up.
James M. Barrie's quote evokes a sense of longing for childhood, emphasizing how the innocence and joy of youth leave a permanent mark on our hearts. While we may no longer experience those carefree times, the memories linger in the sounds and sensations we associate with them, inviting reflection on the beauty and transience of life.
Themes
ChildhoodNostalgiaMemoriesYouthLife
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about the importance of cherishing childhood experiences.
More from James M. Barrie
All quotes →His lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall.
James M. BarrieRead
The secret of happiness is not in doing what one likes, but in liking what one does.
James M. BarrieRead
Never ascribe to an opponent motives meaner than your own.
James M. BarrieRead
It was then that Hook bit him. Not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed Peter. It made him quite helpless. He could only stare, horrified. Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly. All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. 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.
James M. BarrieRead
But the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys.
James M. BarrieRead
Similar quotes
About the time we can make the ends meet, somebody moves the ends.
Herbert HooverRead
My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
Anne SextonRead
But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.
Ernest HemingwayRead
Our ancestors are totally essential to our every waking moment, although most of us don't even have the faintest idea about their lives, their trials, their hardships or challenges.
Annie LennoxRead
Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with the grain flailed out and the chaff blowing. Living was a horse between your legs and a carbine under one leg and a hill and a valley and a stream with trees along it and the far side of the valley and the hills beyond.
Ernest HemingwayRead
A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.
Jackie RobinsonRead