Somehow It Seems To Fill My Head

I Do Not Know If Alice In Wonderland Was An Original Story-i Was, At Least, No Conscious Imitator In Writing It-but I Do Know That, Since It Came Out, Something Like A Dozen Story-books Have Appeared, On Identically The Same Pattern. The Path I Timidly Explored Believing Myself To Be 'the First That Ever Burst Into That Silent Sea'-is Now A Beaten High-road: All The Way-side Flowers Have Long Ago Been Trampled Into The Dust: And It Would Be Courting Disaster For Me To Attempt That Style Again.

She Who Saves A Single Soul, Saves The Universe.

If There's No Meaning In It," Said The King, "that Saves A World Of Trouble, You Know, As We Needn't Try To Find Any. And Yet I Don't Know," He Went On [...]; "i Seem To See Some Meaning In Them, After All.

The Master Was An Old Turtle--we Used To Call Him Tortoise--' Why Did You Call Him Tortoise, If He Wasn't One?' Alice Asked. We Called Him Tortoise Because He Taught Us,' Said The Mock Turtle Angrily; 'really You Are Very Dull!' You Ought To Be Ashamed Of Yourself For Asking Such A Simple Question,' Added The Gryphon; And Then They Both Sat Silent And Looked At Poor Alice, Who Felt Ready To Sink Into The Earth.

Come, Hearken Then, Ere Voice Of Dread, With Bitter Tiding Laden, Shall Summon To Unwelcome Bed A Melancholy Maiden! We Are But Older Children, Dear, Who Fret To Find Our Bedtime Near.