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
And 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… — 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
