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Lewis Carroll, pseudonym for Charles Lutwidge Dodgson

(1832 - 1898)


English Author, Mathematician, Logician, Anglican Deacon and Photographer. Best known for Alice's Adventures In Wonderland and sequel Through the Looking Glass

'O gin I find anither ladye,' He said wi' sighs and tears, 'I wot my coortin' sall not be Anither thirty years: 'For gin I find a ladye gay, Exactly to my taste, I'll pop the question, aye or nay, In twenty years at maist.'
'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, how it goes: but the name of the secret is Love!
'What is the use of a book', thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'
?You're not the same as you were before, he said. You were much more... muchier... you've lost your muchness.
A boat beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July ? Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear ? Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantom-wise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near. 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?
A change came o'er my Vision - it was night: we clove a pathway through a frantic throng: the steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright: the chariots whirled along. Within a marble hall a river ran - a living tide, half muslin and half cloth: and here one mourned a broken wreath or fan, yet swallowed down her wrath
A Hippopotamus: 'If this should stay to dine,' he said, 'There won't be much for us!'
A Postscript is a very useful invention: but it is not meant... to contain the real gist of the letter: it serves rather to throw into the shade any little matter we do not wish to make a fuss about.
A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile! And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar? And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile?
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.