Curiouser And Curiouser.

It's A Poor Sort Of Memory That Only Works Backwards.

I Can Explain All The Poems That Were Ever Invented - And A Good Many That Haven't Been Invented Just Yet.

"well, It's No Use Your Talking About Waking Him," Said Tweedledum, "when You're Only One Of The Things In His Dream. You Know Very Well You're Not Real."

I'll Try If I Know All The Things I Used To Know. Let Me See: Four Times Five Is Twelve, And Four Times Six Is Thirteen, And Four Times Seven Is - Oh Dear! I Shall Never Get To Twenty At That Rate!

Would You Tell Me, Please, Which Way I Ought To Go From Here?