and if they don't the rest of it is a drag and a weariness." He left off stripping the bushes and turned contentedly against her knees.
"You're my home, Mumsey." "And not even," she gently insisted, "when I'm not here to make it for you.

There's a kind of life goes with loving; it's like--like the lovely inside colour of a shell, and somehow, this winter I've wondered if you'd got to the place where you knew what that would be like if you should find it." She turned his face up to her with a tender anxiety and yet with a little timidity; they did not talk much of such things in Bloombury.
"I know, mother." "Yes...." after a long look, "you would; you're so like your father.

But if you know, you mustn't ever be led by dullness or loneliness into anything less, Peter.

Not that I'm afraid you'll be led into anything wrong ...

but there are things that are almost more wrong than downright wickedness....
"I've been thinking a great deal lately about when I was your age, and there didn't seem anything for me but to marry one of the neighbour's boys that I'd known always, or a long plain piece of school teaching.