There's no use in comparing one's feelings between one day and the next; you must allow a reasonable interval, for the direction of change to show itself.

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

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.

When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark, And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark: But, when the tide rises and sharks are around, His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.

Do let's pretend that I'm a hungry hyena, and you're a bone!

A thick stick in one's hand makes people respectful.

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