She's In That State Of Mind That

Twas Brillig, And The Slithy Toves Did Gyre And Gimble In The Wabe: All Mimsy Were The Borogoves, And The Mome Raths Outgrabe.

You Have To Run As Fast As You Can Just To Stay Where You Are. If You Want To Get Anywhere, You'll Have To Run Much Faster.

It's Always Tea-time.

All In The Golden Afternoon Full Leisurely We Glide; For Both Our Oars, With Little Skill, By Little Arms Are Plied, While Little Hands Make Vain Pretence Our Wanderings To Guide.

I Wish I Hadn't Cried So Much!” Said Alice, As She Swam About, Trying To Find Her Way Out. I Shall Be Punished For It Now, I Suppose, By Being Drowned In My Own Tears !