There are three hundred and sixty-four days when you get un-birthday presents—... And only one for birthday presents, you know.

I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.'

Little Birds are tasting / Gratitude and gold, / Pale with sudden cold: / Pale, I say, and wrinkled - / When the bells have tinkled, / And the Tale is told.

Little Birds are dining / Warily and well, / Hid in mossy cell.

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; They threatened its life with a railway-share; They charmed it with smiles and soap.

I wonder if that's the reason Insects are so fond of flying into candles - because they want to turn into Snap-dragon-flies!

The sea was wet as wet could be, the sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because no cloud was in the sky.

One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it- it was the black kitten's fault entirely.

Contrariwise, ' continued Tweedledee, 'if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic. '

Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end: then stop.