God Gave Us Memory So That We

That Is Ever The Way. Tis All Jealousy To The Bride And Good Wishes To The Corpse.

All The World Is Made Of Faith, And Trust, And Pixie Dust.

I'm Youth, I'm Joy, I'm A Little Bird That Has Broken Out Of The Egg.

Yet If He Upbraided Her In His Hurry, It Was To Repent Bitterly His Temper The Next, And To Feel Its Effects More Than She, Temper Being A Weapon That We Hold By The Blade.

Wendy: Sir, You Are Both Ungallant And Deficient! Peter: How Am I Deficient? Wendy: You're Just A Boy.