you stood there counting crows.
one for sorrow. two for joy.
three for girls. four for boys.
five for silver. six for gold.
seven for a secret never to be told.
wendy: peter. you won't forget me, will you?
peter: me? forget? never.
wendy: will you ever come back?
peter: to hear stories... about me.
"you're lovely, but you're empty," he went on. "one couldn't die for you. of course an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. but my rose, all on her own, is more important than you altogether, since she's the one i've watered. since she's the one i put under glass. since she's the one i sheltered behind a screen. since she's the one for whom i killed the caterpillars (except for two or three for butterflies). since she's the one i listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. since she's my rose."