Mad Hatter Quotes

Mad Hatter: “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?” “Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. “No, I give it up,” Alice replied: “What’s the answer?” “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?

I don't think..." then you shouldn't talk, said the Hatter.

The Mad Hatter: "Would you like some wine?" Alice: "Yes..." The Mad Hatter: "We haven't any and you're too young.

One to be a murderer. One to be a Martyr. One to be a Monarch. One to go Mad

Mad Matter: "Have I gone mad?" Alice: "I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.

There is a place, like no place on earth. A land full of wonder, mystery, and danger. Some say, to survive it, you need to be as mad as a hatter. Which, luckily, I am.

Oh -- who's the Queen?" "Her, of course. The White Queen. You're just like Alice, you know. Down the rabbit hole with the Mad Hatter.

Alice: This is impossible. The Mad Hatter: Only if you believe it is.

People who don't think shouldn't talk.

Mad Hatter: Am I going mad? Alice: Yes, you're mad, bonkers, off the top of your head...but...I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.

Mad Hatter: Would you like a little more tea? Alice: Well, I haven't had any yet, so I can't very well take more. March Hare: Ah, you mean you can't very well take less. Mad Hatter: Yes. You can always take more than nothing.

Sometimes I feel sure he is as mad as a hatter and then, just as he is at his maddest, I find there is a method in his madness.

A dream is not reality, but who's to say which is which?

We can’t all be Mad Hatters,

One to be a murderer, the other to be martyred, One to be a monarch, the other to go mad.

You," he says, laughing in spite of himself, "are mad as a hatter.

Goats," said Maxwell Hyde, "are a special case. Mad as hatters, all of them.

Why is a raven like a writing desk? - Mad Hatter I haven't the slightest idea. - Alice

Bad boys needed love too. Her boys weren't dangerous- just naughty. But naughty could be very, very fun.

Every single person is a fool, insane, a failure, or a bad person to at least ten people.

It's like talking to the Mad Hatter about tea.

Everything has beauty," she said, "but not everyone sees it." Her stomach hurt, her eyes burned. "I saw you, Hatter." Her words whispered through the night. "I saw you." She walked away.

If you jotted down all of my ill-thought out comments, you could write a book entitled, Guide to Getting Punched in the Throat for Boneheads-Mad Hatter in "Death of the Mad Hatter" (Coming Soon!)

Take off your hat," the King said to the Hatter. "It isn't mine," said the Hatter. "Stolen!" the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact. "I keep them to sell," the Hatter added as an explanation; "I've none of my own. I'm a hatter.

in the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams, that is where you and I shall meet

You’ll call for me. You’ll be lonely in your new quarters and will feel out of sorts. I could let you pet my hair until you fell asleep.” He drew in closer and lowered his voice to ask in all seriousness, “You’re mad, aren’t you?” “As—a—hatter,” she whispered back conspiratorially. He felt a hint of sympathy for the creature. “How long have you been in here?” “For four long...interminable...days.” He glowered at her. “Which is why I want you to take me with you. I don’t eat much.” The dungeon erupted with laughter again. (Myst and Nikolai)

He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. "He's ill, Jacob." I say nothing. "He's a paragon schnitzophonic." "He's what?!" "Paragon schnitzophonic," repeats Uncle Al. "You mean paranoid schizophrenic?" "Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter...

We would not be ashamed of doing some of the things we do in private, if the number of sane human beings who do them in public were large enough.

You know what the issue is with this world? Everyone wants a magical solution to their problem, and everyone refuses to believe in magic.

Why any self-respecting fairy godmother would pass them over for an inane twit who relied on animals to do her housecleaning was beyond her.

Just because I’m mad doesn’t mean I’m not right.

To evade insanity and depression, we unconsciously limit the number of people toward whom we are sincerely sympathetic.

As I ran, I fixed my hat back on my head and thought, The Mad Hatter. After all this time . . . . . . finally

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, It isn't just one of your holiday games; You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. First of all, there's the name that the family use daily, Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James, Such as Victor or Jonathan, or George or Bill Bailey - All of them sensible everyday names. There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter, Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames: Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter - But all of them sensible everyday names. But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular, A name that's peculiar, and more dignified, Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular, Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride? Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum, Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat, Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum - Names that never belong to more than one cat. But above and beyond there's still one name left over, And that is the name that you never will guess; The name that no human research can discover - But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess. When you notice a cat in profound meditation, The reason, I tell you, is always the same: His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name: His ineffable effable Effanineffable Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

Cheshire Cat: If I were looking for a white rabbit, I'd ask the Mad Hatter. Alice: The Mad Hatter? Oh, no no no... Cheshire Cat: Or, you could ask the March Hare, in that direction. Alice: Oh, thank you. I think I'll see him... Cheshire Cat: Of course, he's mad, too. Alice: But I don't want to go among mad people. Cheshire Cat: Oh, you can't help that. Most everyone's mad here. [laughs maniacally; starts to disappear] Cheshire Cat: You may have noticed that I'm not all there myself.

Blood, sweat, and tea, sister! That's what it takes to achieve all great and terrible things.

The Mad Hatter: Have I gone mad? Alice Kingsley: I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.

Oh my gosh, she'd cracked. Her mother was right. Too much Wonderland and sugar had finally rotter her brain.

Ellie said, "Isn't it a little warm for black?" You're extremely pretty, Dr. Sattler," he said. "I could look at your legs all day. But no, as a matter of fact, black is an excellent color for heat. If you remember your black-body radiation, black is actually best in heat. Efficient radiation. In any case, I wear only two colors, black and gray." Ellie was staring at him, her mouth open. "These colors are appropriate for any occasion," Malcolm continued, and they go well together, should I mistakenly put on a pair of gray socks with my black trousers." But don't you find it boring to wear only two colors?" Not at all. I find it liberating. I believe my life has value, and I don't want to waste it thinking about clothing," Malcolm said. "I don't want to think about what I will wear in the morning. Truly, can you imagine anything more boring than fashion? Professional sports, perhaps. Grown men swatting little balls, while the rest of the world pays money to applaud. But, on the whole, I find fashion even more tedious than sports." Dr. Malcolm," Hammond explained, "is a man of strong opinions." And mad as a hatter," Malcolm said cheerfully. "But you must admit, these are nontrivial issues. We live in a world of frightful givens. It is given that you will behave like this, given that you will care about that. No one thinks about the givens. Isn't it amazing? In the information society, nobody thinks. We expected to banish paper, but we actually banished thought.

I’ve heard that hat making drives people mad,” Pandora remarked. “Which I don’t understand, because it doesn’t seem tedious enough to do that.” “It isn’t the job that drives them mad,” West said. “It’s the mercury solution they use to smooth the felt. After repeated exposure, it addles the brain. Hence the term ‘mad as a hatter.

I'm going to give you a sentence, a full sentence with a noun and a verb and a possible agitate. I don't like all these judges running around with their half baked sentences, thats how you get salmonella poisoning.

My untidy habits drive me to follow the slash-and-burn (or Mad Hatter) principle. Work on a virgin table until the mess becomes unbearable, then move on to a clean table in a clean room — or, on a beautiful summer day like this, one of the five tables dotted around the garden. Trash that table and move on again.

Time is drowning, Hearts are burning, Heads are rolling, Nothing can save you now, Tick tock, tick tock; Creatures talking, Weak are rising, White Queen’s nearing, Nothing can save you now, Tick tock, tick tock; Cards are bleeding, Crowns are sweating, Tea is spilling, Nothing can save you now, Tick tock, tick tock; Red Queen, here’s your warning, Wonderland’s raging, Alice is coming, Highness, time is drowning, And nothing can save you now, Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…

Bad boys needed love too. Her boys weren't dangerous-just naughty.

Two days wrong!" sighed the Hatter. "I told you butter wouldn't suit the works!" he added, looking angrily at the March Hare. "It was the best butter," the March Hare meekly replied.

There were monsters in the night but there were monsters in the day too, and monsters inside people who smiled and showed you all their teeth like they were nice. There were monsters inside Alice, but they only had power if she gave it to them, and other things had power too, like the laughter of children enjoying a picnic together and like the love she had for this terrible, wonderful, imperfect man, this man who hid inside the body of a wolf because he thought that was where he belonged.

Wonderland was wonderful, but without a counterbalance, it could turn it's inhabitants completely insane. 

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

He looked like an angel. But only the fallen would make her feel the sudden violent lust rushing through her veins.

You are trying to understand madness with logic. This is not unlike searching for darkness with a torch. ~The Mad Hatter (Jervis Tetch)

So you really could die. Your godmother is right, you know. You are mad as a hatter. Nutty as a fruitcake.” “Crazy like a fox,” I said.

Leave him alone, he's as mad as a hatter!

She knew what he offered. He would kill her first, with the gun or the knife or his fists if he had to, and make certain she was never trapped in that cage again. From another man this might be terrifying, that he would so blithely consider murdering his companion. But she understood that from Hatcher this was tantamount to an offer of marriage. This was what he could do for her, how he showed he cared.

Of course you're here, in my- sanctum sanctorum. You always have been. You always will be. You're the Nonsense in my head that mustn't be ignored. You're the piece of me that maddens everyone, my sister the most." The Hatter gave her a tired smile and said nothing- which might have been the wisest thing he ever said.

Mrs. Pott's beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am! I've taken a chance on you..

Christ,Syn," said another male."You are out of your fucking mind." "That's right,Frosty;" Synjon said against Petra's ear."Mad as a hatter.

He means none of what he says and only half of what he doesn’t.

Actually insane, as in mentally ill, or mad as a hatter insane?

The first time I came to Wonderland I was trying to find my sister. The second time, I tried to find myself. This time, I’m going to find Remus. I’m going to get my Hatter.

And now into the space of a few hours he had crammed enough variegated lunacy to equip all the March Hares in England and leave some over for the Mad Hatters.

Where is he?” “Through the rabbit hole, Alice,” Asmoday instructs, gesturing with a sweep of his hand in the direction of the door. “Off to see the Mad Hatter, I suppose.” “Indeed.” “So,” Keely asks as she brushes past her brother, hand on the door knob. “What’s that make you? Twiddle Dee or Twiddle Dum?

Hat manufacturers once used a bright orange mercury wash to separate fur from pelts, and the common hatters who dredged around in the steamy vats, like the mad one in Alice in Wonderland, gradually lost their hair and wits.

Above them, one of the blackened television screens brightens, and there's an announcement about the in-flight movie. It's an animated film about a family of ducks, one that Hadley's actually see, and when Oliver groans, shes about to deny the whole thing. But then she twists around in her seat and eyes him critically. "There's nothing wrong with ducks," she tells him, and he rolls his eyes. "Talking ducks?" Hadley grins. "They sing, too." "Don't tell me," he says. "You've already seen it." She holds up two fingers. "Twice." "You do know it's meant for five-year-olds, right?" "Five- to eight-year-olds, thank you very much." "And how old are you again?" "Old enough to appreciate our web-footed friends." "You," he says, laughing in spite of himself, "are a mad as a hatter." "Wait a second," Hadley says in mock horror. "Is that a reference to a...cartoon?" No, genius. It's a reference to a famous work of literature by Lewis Carroll. But once again, I can see how well that American education is working for you.

in the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams, that is where you and I shall meet

Hatter was dressed in his outlandish clothes again and her heart beamed with pride. “You know,” she said, “you’re all sorts of perfect.” He smiled, but she saw pleasure in his eyes.

I never knew whether his speedy speech patterns reflected amphetamine use or an amphetamine mind. He would often lead me up blind alleys or through an endless labyrinth of incomprehensible logic. I felt like Alice with the Mad Hatter, negotiating jokes without punch lines, and having to retrace my steps on the chessboard floor back to the logic of my own peculiar universe.

Mrs. Potts beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am!

Cheshire Puss,' she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. 'Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on. 'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?' 'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat. 'I don't much care where—' said Alice. 'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat. '—so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation. 'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk long enough.” Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. `What sort of people live about here?' `In that direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round, `lives a Hatter: and in that direction,' waving the other paw, `lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.' `But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked. `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.' `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice. `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.

One o’ clock. With her fork she would tantalize the heart of an adoring artichoke, while her escort served himself up in the thick, dripping sentences of an enraptured man. Four o’clock: her little feet moving to melody, her face distinct in the crowd, her partner happy as a petted puppy and mad as the immemorial hatter…

Of course that stupid fat cow- oh what was her face, the one who worked with Cinderella- thought she was the best. But honestly, what was her claim to fame? Turning a pumpkin into a coach? Or, how about making mice footmen? Preposterous. She was a disgrace to all the fairy godmothers out there with her ridiculous bippity-boppity-booing.

There is place , like no place on earth. a land full of wonder , mystery and danger. some say to survive it , you need to be as mad as a hatter. which luckily I am.

It was a horrible thing to be age-stamped by the boyband of your heart.

So the Wolf had killed a time or two. Big deal. He was a wolf! What did they expect? That he’d lick his balls all day and howl at the moon?

In that direction... lives a Hatter, and in that direction... lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.

the hospital, I always felt like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party: I had woken up in a world that seemed utterly logical to its inhabitants but quite mad to me.

We can’t all be Mad Hatters,” said Howl.

We can't all be Mad Hatters," said Howl.

We can't all be Mad Hatters

The world is as it used to be: “All nations striving strong to make Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters They do no more for Christés sake Than you who are helpless in such matters. “That this is not the judgment-hour For some of them’s a blessed thing, For if it were they’d have to scour Hell’s floor for so much threatening.... “Ha, ha. It will be warmer when I blow the trumpet (if indeed I ever do; for you are men, And rest eternal sorely need).

I was curious as to how my words started circulating at such an alarming rate. After all, every author waits to be discovered by someone. Anyone. And so I found myself smack bang in the middle of the mad hatters head, and as someone put it, Tumblr might actually be worse than that. But yes, futilely, I was attempting to discover the elusive origin of my words by tracing back notes until I came across my quote right next to a selfie of a stripper, or hooker, with a fox tail butt plug... and that was when I stopped.

A bottle that reads, "Drink me." A tea party, with a dormouse, a March Hare, and of course, one Mad Hatter. A red queen, with as much a fondness for tarts as for saying, "Off with their heads!" When we think of Alice and her adventures in wonderland, we often think of these amazing (and amusing) elements. Although today, your vision of Alice in Wonderland probably includes Johnny Depp and a certain visual aesthetic by Tim Burton, it's difficult not to think of the Alice stories without thinking about the food that appears within the pages of the story.

Dr. Malcolm,” Hammond explained, “is a man of strong opinions.” “And mad as a hatter,” Malcolm said cheerfully. “But you must admit, these are nontrivial issues. We live in a world of frightful givens. It is given that you will behave like this, given that you will care about that. No one thinks about the givens. Isn’t it amazing? In the information society, nobody thinks. We expected to banish paper, but we actually banished thought.

... as far as I can see, everyone is mad. Do you know Matty, that's the only explanation for the world that I can see -- everyone's as mad as hatters... Mad. All of us. Everyone.

You can’t seriously believe in the curse.” “I believe in anything that might get me killed. Better safe than sorry is my motto.

Mad, mad, mad as a hatter. Well, that’s the way of all Finches. Difference between Uncle Jack and the rest of ’em, though, is he knows he’s crazy.

Bad boys needed love too. Her boys weren’t dangerous— just naughty. But naughty could be very, very fun.

To vilify a man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness,

Channel Firing That night your great guns, unawares, Shook all our coffins as we lay, And broke the chancel window-squares, We thought it was the Judgment-day And sat upright. While drearisome Arose the howl of wakened hounds: The mouse let fall the altar-crumb, The worms drew back into the mounds, The glebe cow drooled. Till God called, “No; It’s gunnery practice out at sea Just as before you went below; The world is as it used to be: “All nations striving strong to make Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters They do no more for Christés sake Than you who are helpless in such matters. “That this is not the judgment-hour For some of them’s a blessed thing, For if it were they’d have to scour Hell’s floor for so much threatening . . . “Ha, ha. It will be warmer when I blow the trumpet (if indeed I ever do; for you are men, And rest eternal sorely need).” So down we lay again. “I wonder, Will the world ever saner be,” Said one, “than when He sent us under In our indifferent century!” And many a skeleton shook his head. “Instead of preaching forty year,” My neighbour Parson Thirdly said, “I wish I had stuck to pipes and beer.” Again the guns disturbed the hour, Roaring their readiness to avenge, As far inland as Stourton Tower, And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge.

It was the first time they had ever talked face to face and Breece divined in a moment of dizzy revelation something about Sutter that no one had noticed before. Why, he is mad, Breece thought. He’s not what people say about him at all. He’s not just mean as a snake or eccentric or independent. He’s as mad as a hatter, and I don’t know how they’ve let him go so long.

Read. You should read Bukowski and Ferlinghetti, read Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton, and listen to Coltrane, Nina Simone, Hank Williams, Loretta Lynn, Son House, Robert Johnson, Howlin’ Wolf, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Miles Davis, Lou Reed, Nick Drake, Bobbie Gentry, George Jones, Jimmy Reed, Odetta, Funkadelic, and Woody Guthrie. Drive across America. Ride trains. Fly to countries beyond your comfort zone. Try different things. Join hands across the water. Different foods. New tasks. Different menus and tastes. Talk with the guy who’s working in construction on your block, who’s working on the highway you’re traveling on. Speak with your neighbors. Get to know them. Practice civil disobedience. Try new resistance. Be part of the solution, not the problem. Don’t litter the earth, it’s the only one you have, learn to love her. Care for her. Learn another language. Trust your friends with kindness. You will need them one day. You will need earth one day. Do not fear death. There are worse things than death. Do not fear the reaper. Lie in the sunshine but from time to time let the neon light your way. ZZ Top, Jefferson Airplane, Spirit. Get a haircut. Dye your hair pink or blue. Do it for you. Wear eyeliner. Your eyes are the windows to your soul. Show them off. Wear a feather in your cap. Run around like the Mad Hatter. Perhaps he had the answer. Visit the desert. Go to the zoo. Go to a county fair. Ride the Ferris wheel. Ride a horse. Pet a pig. Ride a donkey. Protest against war. Put a peace symbol on your automobile. Drive a Volkswagen. Slow down for skateboarders. They might have the answers. Eat gingerbread men. Pray to the moon and the stars. God is out there somewhere. Don’t worry. You’ll find out where soon enough. Dance. Even if you don’t know how to dance. Read The Four Agreements. Read the Bible. Read the Bhagavad Gita. Join nothing. It won’t help. No games, no church, no religion, no yellow-brick road, no way to Oz. Wear beads. Watch a caterpillar in the sun.

Never be sorry.” He looks into my eyes. “Not for me. Our world is in chaos, every one of us suffers in some way. My mind,” he taps the side of his head, “is where I suffer. Inside my thoughts, there’s chaos, insanity, fear. I cannot fight it. I cannot push it away. But inside all that chaos, there’s you, shining bright, my own star to light the way and show me the path home. Never be sorry for who you are,” he says, more serious than I have ever seen him. “Because who you are is everything to me

that the way you manage?' Alice asked. The Hatter shook his head mournfully. 'Not I!' he replied. 'We quarrelled last March--just before he went mad, you know--' (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) '--it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and

Carroting, you must understand, was a process by which animal fur is bathed in a solution of mercury nitrate, in order to render the hairs more supple, thus producing a superior felt.” At this last word, he threw a significant glance in my direction. “Felt,” I repeated. “You mean, for the making of hats?” “Precisely. The solution is of an orange colour, hence the term carroting. However, this process had rather severe side effects on those who worked with it, which is why its use today is much reduced. When mercury vapours are inhaled over a long enough period of time—particularly, for our purposes, in the close quarters of a hat-making operation—toxic and irreversible effects almost inevitably follow. One develops tremors of the hands; blackened teeth; slurred speech. In severe cases, dementia or outright insanity can occur. Hence the term mad as a hatter.

Fortune-teller tea. Give it a sip!" The liquid was pink and smelled of strawberries, but when Maddie drank it, the flavor was deep and a little bitter, followed by a sudden burst of sweetness. Her father returned. "Well?" he asked. "It started out as black licorice and then melted into butterscotch," she said. "Oh, my girl, the tea is telling you that this is the year to keep your ear to the ground and listen for surprises. Change is coming!" Maddie's stomach was full of thoughts and her head full of butterflies. She checked her watch again. She couldn't wait for it all to begin.

On closer notice of her apron, he said, "Is that-?" "The Mad Hatter," she said. "I told you, I have a collection." "You collect aprons?" "Since I was little and my mom taught me to bake." When he smiled, she arched a brow. "Some find it charmingly quirky." "You never wore any to Gateau." "Shocking, I know. Because I'm certain the staff would have greatly appreciated the humor in them." His smile twitched wider at that. "You have a point, I suppose. I must say, this dry side of you is surprisingly appealing. What does it say?" He nodded toward her apron front. She lifted her arms away so he could read the script that accompanied the copy of an original pen and ink art rendering of the Hatter seated at a long table, holding a teacup aloft. "YOU'RE NEVER TOO OLD TO HAVE A TEA PARTY," he read out loud, then smiled at her. "I rather agree. You make a charming and somewhat more quirky Alice than I'd have expected. I seem to recall Alice spent the better part of her time being irritated and flustered, too. Perhaps if I'd come bearing tea and crumpets, with a bewildered, bespectacled white rabbit clutching a pocketwatch in his paw, you'd have been more willing to give me the time of day.

What sort of people live about here? - In THAT direction lives, lives a Hatter and in THAT direction, lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad. - But I don't want to go among mad people. - Oh, you can't help that, we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. - How do you know I'm mad? - You must be, or you wouldn't have come here.

Exchanging Hats Unfunny uncles who insist in trying on a lady's hat, --oh, even if the joke falls flat, we share your slight transvestite twist in spite of our embarrassment. Costume and custom are complex. The headgear of the other sex inspires us to experiment. Anandrous aunts, who, at the beach with paper plates upon your laps, keep putting on the yachtsmen's caps with exhibitionistic screech, the visors hanging o'er the ear so that the golden anchors drag, --the tides of fashion never lag. Such caps may not be worn next year. Or you who don the paper plate itself, and put some grapes upon it, or sport the Indian's feather bonnet, --perversities may aggravate the natural madness of the hatter. And if the opera hats collapse and crowns grow draughty, then, perhaps, he thinks what might a miter matter? Unfunny uncle, you who wore a hat too big, or one too many, tell us, can't you, are there any stars inside your black fedora? Aunt exemplary and slim, with avernal eyes, we wonder what slow changes they see under their vast, shady, turned-down brim.

CARROLL: In the place called Adulthood, there's precious few golden afternoons. They've gone away to make way for other things like business and housekeeping and wanting everyone to be the same, just like you, all the lives lived in neat hedgerows, all excess banished, all joyous peculiarities excised. It's grim and shabby. There are no Mad Hatters and there are no Cheshire Cats, for they can't endure the suffering of the place. ALICE: Please stop... CARROLL: That's the place called Adulthood... I'm there now. You'll be there soon enough. And you'll never leave... But here and now, in this room, and on this glass plate, and in the story I'm writing, you'll never be there... And you'll never be hurt. And you'll never be heart-sick. And you'll never be alone.... You will be beloved.