I wish I could manage to be glad! Only I never can remember the rule. You must be very happy, living in this wood, and being glad whenever you like!
Child of the pure unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale.
If it had grown up, it would have made a dreadfully ugly child; but it makes rather a handsome pig, I think.
If he smiled much more, the ends of his mouth might meet behind, and then I don’t know what would happen to his head! I’m afraid it would come off!
Keep your temper, said the Caterpillar.
You evidently do not suffer from “quotation-hunger” as I do! I get all the dictionaries of quotations I can meet with, as I always want to know where a quotation comes from.
Why is a raven like a writing desk? – Mad Hatter I haven’t the slightest idea. – Alice.
And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you’d be?
You’re thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk.
In a wonderland they lie, dreaming as the days go by.
We’re all mad here.
I think I should understand that better, if I had it written down: but I can’t quite follow it as you say it.
What do you suppose is the use of a child without any meaning? Even a joke should have some meaning – and a child’s more imporant than a joke, I hope. You couldn’t deny that, even if you tried with both hands.
It’s always tea-time.
Do you suppose she’s a wildflower?
A thick stick in one’s hand makes people respectful.
Be who you are, said the Duchess to Alice, or, if you would like it put more simply, never try to be what you might have been or could have been other than what you should have been.
The Cheshire Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she thought: still it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt it ought to be treated with respect.
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl Brimming over with quivering curds!
The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, All on a summer day: The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, And took them quite away!