We Are But Older Children, Dear, Who

For, You See, So Many Out-of-the-way Things Had Happened Lately, That Alice Had Begun To Think That Very Few Things Indeed Were Really Impossible.

The Recent Extraordinary Discovery In Photography, As Applied In The Operations Of The Mind, Has Reduced The Art Of Novel-writing To The Merest Mechanical Labour.

And How Do You Know That You're Mad?

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.

The Rule Is, Jam Tomorrow And Jam Yesterday-but Never Jam Today It Must Come Sometime To Jam Today, Alice Objected No It Can't Said The Queen It's Jame Every Other Day. Today Isn't Any Other Day, You Know