Delysia: [during an air-raid drill] Guinevere, I’m scared!
Guinevere Pettigrew: It’s just a drill, I’m sure it’s just a drill.
Delysia: But it won’t always be, will it? We’re going to war, aren’t we?
Guinevere Pettigrew: Yes we are. And that is why you must not waste a second of this precious life. Listen to me. Once I too had ambitions. Not your grand ones, simple ambitions. Marriage, children and a house of our own. He died, in the mud in France. A good, solid man. You would call him dull, no doubt, but he smiled whenever he saw me and we could’ve built a life on that. Your heart knows the truth, Delysia. Trust it.
Peter Llewelyn Davies: What did you bring me over here for?
Sylvia Llewelyn Davies: Peter.
Peter Llewelyn Davies: But, this is absurd. It’s just a dog.
Sylvia Llewelyn Davies: Come on, darling.
J.M. Barrie: Just a dog? *Just*? Porthos, don’t listen! Porthos dreams of being a bear, and you want to dash those dreams by saying he’s *just* a dog? What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That’s like saying, “He can’t climb that mountain, he’s just a man”, or “That’s not a diamond, it’s just a rock.” Just.