Can you row?" the Sheep asked, handing her a pair of knitting-needles as she spoke. "Yes, a little--but not on land--and not with needles--" Alice was beginning to say.

In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream- Lingering in the golden gleam- Life, what is it but a dream?

“I don't like the look of it at all,” said the King: “however, it may kiss my hand, if it likes.” “I'd rather not,” the Cat remarked.

Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?

I think I should understand that better, if I had it written down: but I can't quite follow it as you say it.

I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.

It was for bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.