But, said Alice, the the world has absolutely no sens, who's stopping us from inventing one?

'What is the use of a book', thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'

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.

So she sat on with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality.

No good fish goes anywhere without a porpoise.

Who can tell whether the parallelogram, which in our ignorance we have defined and drawn, and the whole of whose properties we profess to know, may not be all the while panting for exterior angles, sympathetic with the interior, or sullenly repining at the fact that it cannot be inscribed in a circle?

Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas - only I don't exactly know what they are!