He loved her, both for her fault and her redemption of it, more than he had ever thought that he could love her; for he had believed that in their kiss love had reached its uttermost. But love has no… — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
He bent his head and kissed her long and deeply, and in that kiss neither knew themselves, or even each other, but something beyond all consciousness that was both of them. — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
I will fight for you, yes, and you will fight for me. And if you have sacrificed joy and courage and beauty and wisdom… — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
He loved her, both for her fault and her redemption of it, more than he had ever thought that he could love her; for… — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
He bent his head and kissed her long and deeply, and in that kiss neither knew themselves, or even each other, but something beyond… — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
Old sundial, you stand here for Time: For Love, the vine that round your base Its tendrils twines, and dares to climb And lay… — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
The events of childhood do not pass but repeat themselves like seasons of the year. — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
“Love has no uttermost, as the stars have no number and the sea no rest. ” — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
There's Carol like a rolling car, And Martin like a flying bird, And Adam like the Lord's First Word, And Raymond like the Harvest… — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
Cats sleep Anywhere, Any table, Any chair, Top of piano, Window-ledge, In the middle, On the edge. — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
We do not lose our friends when they die, we only lose sight of them. — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
Of troubles know I none, Of pleasures know I many - I rove beneath the sun, Without a single penny. — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
Upon your shattered ruins where This vine will flourish still, as rare, As fresh, as fragrant as of old. Love will not crumble. — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
Morning has broken Like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken Like the first bird. — Eleanor Farjeon Copy Share Image
