It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.

Life, what is it but a dream?

If there's no meaning in it," said the King, "that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. And yet I don't know," he went on [...]; "I seem to see some meaning in them, after all.

Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?

And thus they give the time, that Nature meant for peaceful sleep and meditative snores, to ceaseless din and mindless merriment and waste of shoes and floors.

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

He said he would come in,' the White Queen went on, `because he was looking for a hippopotamus. Now, as it happened, there wasn't such a thing in the house, that morning.' Is there generally?' Alice asked in an astonished tone. Well, only on Thursdays,' said the Queen.