Speak in French when you can’t think of the English for a thing--turn your toes out when you walk---And remember who you are!
Alice sighed wearily. `I think you might do something better with the time,' she said, `than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.'`If you knew Time as well as I do,' said the Hatter, `you wouldn't talk about wasting it. It's him.'`I don't know what you mean,' said Alice.`Of course you don't!' the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. `I dare say you never even spoke to Time!'`Perhaps not,' Alice cautiously replied: `but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.'`Ah! that accounts for it,' said the Hatter. `He won't stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you'd only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!
Imagine for a moment that you are the proud owner of a large house which you have spent years of your life painting and decorating and filling with everything you love. It's your home. It's something you've made your own, something for you to be remembered by, something that, perhaps years later, your children and grandchildren can visit and get a view of your life in. It's part of your creativity, your hard work... it's your property.Now suppose you decide to go camping for a couple of weeks. You lock your door and assume that nobody is going to break in... but they do, and when you return home, to your horror you find that not only do these trespassers break in, but they also have quite uniquely imaginative ways of disrespecting, vandalizing and corrupting everything within your property. They light fires on your lawn, your topiary hedges are in heaps of black ashes. There's some blatantly obscene graffiti splattered across your front door, offensive images and rude words splashed on the walls and windows. Your television has been tipped over. Your photographs of family and friends have had the heads cut out of them. There's mold growing in the refrigerator, bottles of booze tipped over on the table, and cigarette smoke embedded into the carpeting. Your beloved houseplants are dead, your furniture has been stripped down and ruined. Basically, the thing you've spent years working for and creating within your lifetime has been tampered with to the point where it is just a grim joke.So, I feel terrible for poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Jane Austen and Lewis Carroll, who must be spinning in their graves since they have no rights to their own works of fiction anymore. I'm all for readers being able to read books for free once and only when the deceased author's copyright eventually ends. Still though, did Doyle ever think in a million years that his wonderful characters would be dragged through the mud of every pervy fanfiction that the sick internet geek can think of to create? Did Carroll ever suspect that Alice and the Hatter would become freakish clown-like goth caricatures in Tim Burton's CGI-infested films? Would Austen really want her writing to be sold as badly-formatted ebooks?The sharing of this Public Domain content isn't really an issue. Stories are meant to be told, meant to echo onward forever. That's what makes them magical. That being said, in the Information Age, there's a real lack of respect towards the creators of this original content. If, when I've been dead for 70 years and I then no longer have the rights to my novels, somebody gets the bright idea of doing anything funny with any of those novels, my ghost is going to rise from the grave and do some serious ass-kicking.
Yes! He says. Fear is an excellent motivator. I find that it really brings out the true ingenuity of a creature.
Lewis exasperated her, always talking about life before the Plague and how it would be if everything was different. He was a dreamer. “It would be nice, but it’s not gonna happen, Lewis. You shouldn’t spout off talk like that, giving false hope to people. It’d be better if they focused on surviving. It’s more important than some silly dream.” “But Alice, dreams are how people get by in a place like this,” Lewis countered. His freckles faded with his smile. “We gotta find somethin’ to hold onto, else we’ll all go mad.
When one finds oneself in the kind of strange, unsettling circumstances as I presently find myself, it is only natural, after all, to have a few, unusual, vivid dreams.
Stop thinking about all that is wrong, and focus on what is right. It's there that you'll step out of the crazy, rise out of the rabbit hole, and start living again.
Without the journey and crucial moment of understanding, I would still be questioning everything before me. I know now that I must trust what comes next, for there is a plan greater than the one I can see at work.
The day I let all that fear and worry consume me was the day it all changed. I slipped off that bridge and fell into the void I’d always dreamt about. The thing was, that was also that day I started to live.
I looked around I realized I was standing on the edge of the muddy bank with tall trees in the distance. I could see the sun rising over the water just as the sky glistened a beautiful rose gold with ombre shades of purple and blue––just like in my dream. But this wasn’t my dream or was it? I can openly admit I have been mentally lost for months, but now as I sit here with an irate otter yelling at me, the idea of lost took on a whole new meaning.
Trust and faith have left you.” “He will help guide you back to them.” “Blessings to you on your journey.
I fell into the water with a large splash and sunk like a stone. My feet guided the way as I drifted further into the murky depths. Down. Down. Down.
Have I... I venture, terrified of the potential answer. Have I gone mad? No, no, no. She says. Okay, oui, peut-être, that depends. Maybe you have gone a little mad, and only for a little spell.
The human mind prefers something which it can recognize to something for which it has no name, and, whereas thousands of persons carry field glasses to bring horses, ships, or steeples close to them, only a few carry even the simplest pocket microscope. Yet a small microscope will reveal wonders a thousand times more thrilling than anything which Alice saw behind the looking-glass.
For I do not believe God means us thus to divide life into half halves - to wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out-of-place to even so much as mention Him on a weekday. Do you think he cares to see only kneeling figures, and to hear only tones of prayer - and that He does not also love to see the lambs leaping in the sunlight, and to hear the merry voices of the children as they roll among the hay? Surely their innocent laughter is as sweet in His ears as the grandest anthem that ever rolled up from the 'dim religious light' of some solemn cathedral?
But oh my dear, I am tired of being Alice in Wonderland. Does it sound ungrateful? It is. Only I do get tired.
He lifted his shirt, and on his back was the White Rabbit, wearing his waistcoat and looking at his watch. It was just like the illustration from the book. Only standing next to him, back-to-back, was another White Rabbit wearing a leather motercycle jacket and boots and smoking a cigar.
Fuathan don’t come out until after dark. Sunlight kills them.’‘Like vampires?’‘Kind of. Very mean, sub-aquatic vampires who don’t need to drink your blood, but might do it anyway, just for fun.
I am here because I have to be here, as here I am supposed to be! All things should be, and usually are, found in their rightful places. Can you imagine how chaotic the world would be if nothing was in its correct place?
It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying Come up again, dear!I shall only look up and say Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then,if I like being that person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down heretill I'm somebody else--but, oh dear!' cried Alice, with a sudden burstof tears, 'I do wish they WOULD put their heads down! I am so VERY tiredof being all alone here!
If you jotted down all of my ill-thought out comments, you could write a book entitled, Guide to Getting Punched in the Throat for Boneheads-Mad Hatter in Death of the Mad Hatter (Coming Soon!)
Darkness grew where it would and took what it wanted. It staked its claim and never let go. And no one else could pry you free of it.
Progress in evil was quick and easy; Apollyon was not a chap who hid himself and he gave every assistance in his power. The growth in goodness was so slow, at times so flat, so dull, and like the White Queen one had to run so fast to stay where one was, let alone progress; and there were few men who dared to say they had found God. It was easy to be a clever sinner, for the race to an earthly visible goal was short to run, so impossibly hard to be a wise saint, with the goal set at so vast a distance from this world and clouded with such uncertainty.
This is no dream, Novi. Everything you are experiencing is real and until you accept that, you will not be able to go home.”“Yeah, okay. Sure. Twin queens, talking otters, Autumn Fae, houses suspended in midair. Yep, totally real. Got it.
Speak English! said the Eaglet. I don't know the meaning of half those long words, and, what's more, I don't believe you do either! And the Eaglet bend down its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds tittered audibly.
I ground my teeth. Just when I thought I was getting a handle on this whole Dark One/demon lord/imp thing, you go and throw knockers into the mix. I'm going to have to request that you stop, Adrian. I'm about at my limit of how many impossible things I can believe before breakfast.He flashed a heart-stoppingly roguish grin at me, his dimples just about bringing me to my knees. Your middle name wouldn't be Alice, would it? he asked.No, it's Diane, and you're no White Rabbit, so let's just stop pretending we're in Wonderland, OK?He laughed and pointed across the tiny square at our destination. I watched him for a moment, seeing a glimpse of the charming, charismatic man he must have been before the demon lord cursed him and leeched away all the softer emotions.
To hear a truth, we must first suspect that our present truth might not be. Like Alice’s White Queen, who often believed six impossible things before breakfast, I believed many things in my life, considering them to be true at any given time but suspecting that they might not be, until I met Jesus Christ. When we encounter The Truth, we know it and can only accept or reject it. Denial is not an option.