When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!

A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing - A simple chime, that served to time The rhythm of your rowing - Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say 'forget.

It is the privilege of true genius, And especially genius who opens up a new path, To make great mistakes with impunity

Death is always sad, I suppose, to us who look forward to it: I expect it will seem very different when we can look back upon it.

Ill try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.

Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.

If only I could manage, without annoyance to my family, to get imprisoned for 10 years, "without hard labour," and with the use of books and writing materials, it would be simply delightful!