“Life for me had already lost much of its pulp; the edges were collapsing into the center, and in that gap was the sympathy Peter had sought all his life and never got from anyone. Or perhaps "sympathy" was the wrong word; what he was telling me was more confirmation of what I already understood in biblical terms: the bad Peter, under the influence of the Devil, did horrible things. His honesty was evidence that the good Peter was finally triumphing over the bad one, because to me, that was the whole point of confession -- to figure out where you've gone wrong and to stop sinning.”

“What did this portend? He still breathed, the instruments did not change, his heart beat on. But he called to Peter. Did this mean that he longed to live the life of his child of the mind, Young Peter? Or in some kind of delirium was he speaking to his brother the Hegemon? Or earlier, his brother as a boy. Peter, wait for me. Peter, did I do well? Peter, don't hurt me. Peter, I hate you. Peter for one smile of yours I'd die or kill. What was his message?”

“And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter's laugh was a most contagious thing.”

“When I was young - really young - I used to think that the kids who had money, who were popular at school and who did well at things must have had horrible home lives - abusive parents or nasty siblings or lived in cupboard under stairs.It’s kind of sick when you think about it, but what I figured was that life should be fair - everyone had to have good and bad things in their lives, and no one could have a wholly good life or a wholly bad life because that would upset the balance of things.I know now that I was wrong.”

“Grady for an instant felt the oddest loss: poor Peter, he knew her even less, she realized, than Apple, and yet, because he was her only friend, she wanted to tell him: not now, sometime. And what would he say? Because he was Peter, she trusted him to love her more: if not, then let the sea usurp their castle, not the one they'd built to keep life out, it was already gone, at least for her, but another, that one sheltering friendships and promises.”

“What’s your name?’ he asked.‘Wendy Moira Angela Darling,’ she replied with some satisfaction. ‘What is your name?’‘Peter Pan.’She was already sure that he must be Peter, but it did seem a comparatively short name.‘Is that all?’‘Yes,’ he said rather sharply. He felt for the first time that it was a shortish name.‘I’m so sorry,’ said Wendy Moira Angela.‘It doesn’t matter,’ Peter gulped.She asked where he lived.‘Second to the right,’ said Peter, ‘and then straight on till morning.’‘What a funny address!’Peter had a sinking feeling. For the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.“A moment after the fairy’s entrance the window was blow open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.”