All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!" This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.
"Whatever comes," she said, "cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it."
"Doomed, madam?" "To be together. Until one of us dies." "I've done that already, and I haven't the slightest intention of ever doing it again." Westley said. Buttercup looked at him. "Don't we sort of have to sometime?" "Not if we promise to outlive each other, and I make that promise now." Buttercup looked at him. "Oh my Westley, so do I."