Twisted Wonderland Quotes

Once, when I was younger, I thought I could be someone else. I'd move to Casablanca, open a bar, and I'd meet Ingrid Bergman. Or more realistically - whether actually more realistic or not - I'd tune in on a better life, something more suited to my true self. Toward that end, I had to undergo training. I read The Greening of America, and I saw Easy Rider three times. But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn't anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return.

This was like being Alice in a very twisted Wonderland...

But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn't going anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return. Was that so depressing? Who knows? Maybe that was 'despair.' What Turgenev called 'disillusionment.' Or Dostoyevsky, 'hell.' Or Somerset Maugham, 'reality.' Whatever the label, I figured it was me.

I’m in control. But it’s a lie, because now I’ve tasted him. His lips are salty-sweet with yesterday’s laughter … digging in the black sands beneath Wonderland’s sunshine, playing leapfrog atop mushroom caps, and resting in the shade of black satin wings. I try to shake off the spell, but he angles his face and deepens the kiss. “Embrace me … embrace your destiny.” He breaks the barrier of my lips, touching his tongue to mine, a sensation too wickedly delicious to deny. As our tongues entwine, his lullaby purrs through my blood and bones, carrying me to the stars. Behind closed eyes, I’m floating against a velvet sky, lungs filled with night air. On some level, I know I’m still in the middle of a fire-warmed chamber, yet my wings pantomime flight on a cool breeze. I’m dancing with Morpheus in the heavens, no longer imprisoned by gravity. Fluttering our wings in unison, we twist and whirl a weightless waltz among stars that coil and uncoil in feathery sparks high above Wonderland’s warped and wonderful landscapes. Each time we spin, then return to each other’s arms, I laugh, because at last I’m me. I’m a me I’ve longed to be in my innermost fantasies—spontaneous, impetuous, and seductive.

Dinah drew her sword, and with that, the former Princess of Wonderland and her black devil steed disappeared into the Twisted Wood, leaving nothing behind but a false trail and the distant whiff of a crown.

This was like being Alice in a very twisted Wonderland, Jessica decided, one where all the characters had only sex on their minds. She’d been propositioned by a woman, by a fat man, by a couple trolling for a threesome. Then she’d struck up a conversation with a really cute guy, and suddenly he knelt at her feet and wanted --“You want me to whip you?” she repeated in disbelief.

When the zebra-striped lizards return, bulbous eyes twisting in every direction, they carry a platter garnished with dried fruit and something that resembles a duck. It’s plucked and roasted but still has its head intact. A warm, herbal scent tickles my nose. At least it’s cooked. "May I introduce you all to the main course?” Morpheus spreads out an arm with dramatic flair. “Dinner, meet your worthy adversaries, the hungry guests.” My tongue dries to sandpaper as the bird’s eyes pop open, and it hobbles to stand on webbed feet, flesh brown and glistening with glaze and oil. There’s a bell hung around its neck, and it jingles as the duck bows to greet everyone. This cannot be happening. Morpheus drags the heavy mallet from beside his chair and pounds it on the table like a judge’s gavel. “Now that we’re all acquainted, let the walloping begin.” Gossamer launches from Morpheus’s shoulder and leaves the room with the other sprites as mass confusion erupts. All the guests leap to their feet, mallets in hand, to chase the jingling duck.

But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return.

I made sure to brush my teeth as soon as I was able. I even asked for a hair tie to pull my long, blood-red hair into a twist at the nape of my neck so I wouldn’t have that 'freshly hospitalized' look.

Change isn't always a bad thing," he said patting her arm for comfort. "There's no adventure without change. And no buying sweets either. Have you ever tried to buy a lolly with a thousand-pound note? Disastrous." -The Knave of Hearts,Unbirthday,A Twisted Tale

I should see the garden far better," said Alice to herself, "if I could get to the top of that hill: and here's a path that leads straight to it—at least, no it doesn't do that—" (after going a few yards along the path, and turning several sharp corners), "but I suppose it will at last. But how curiously it twists! It's more like a corkscrew than a path! Well, this turn goes to the hill, I suppose—no, it doesn't! This goes straight back to the house! Well then, I'll try it the other way." And so she did: wandering up and down, and trying turn after turn, but always coming back to the house, do what she would. Indeed, once, when she turned a corner rather more quickly than usual, she ran against it before she could stop herself.

An Underground that knew all about this, knew all about Les, was preparing to wake up the world and invite it to a Canada’s Wonderland made of bodies. Giant bloodslides. Houses of torture where children’s kidneys are twisted like sponges in the fat hands of musclemen. There would be buns crammed with the cooked knuckles of teenagers, and a king, sitting on a mountain of kings, eating his own shoulder.

Once, when I was younger, I thought I could be someone else. I'd move to Casablanca, open a bar, and I'd meet Ingrid Bergman. Or more realistically - whether actually more realistic or not - I'd tune in on a better life, something more suited to my true self. Toward that end, I had to undergo training. I read The Greening of America, and I saw Easy Rider three times. But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn't going anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return. Was that so depressing? Who knows? Maybe that was 'despair.' What Turgenev called 'disillusionment.' Or Dostoevsky, 'hell.' Or Somerset Maugham, 'reality.' Whatever the label, I figured it was me.

And you thought there was only one exit door...

Where are you going?” He asked, his lips already edging towards a pout as though he were a needy toddler and not a blossoming rockstar. Well, to be fair he tended to embody both of those states at the same time. “Just taking a break,” She told him, trying not to be distracted from her goal of bodily comfort by the smirk sliding onto his face. She promptly failed. “We could take a break together…” He suggested cheekily, tugging her by the wrist until she bumped up against his knees. “Luke…” She warned, raising a finger to ward him off which he completely ignored. He released his hold on her wrist and used his good arm to scoop around her waist and twist her body until she was tumbling backwards onto his lap. “Luke!” She cried much more forcefully this time, trying to steady herself without jostling his cast any more than she already had. “Your arm is broken and you’re going to end up with two if you’re not careful.” If his satisfied expression was anything to go by her chastising had no effect. He adjusted her position slightly and wrapped his good arm more firmly around her waist keeping her close. Despite her protests she wasn’t immune to being this close to him. She found herself relaxing a little against her better judgement as the warmth he always seemed to radiate seeped through her. Maybe he didn’t run as hot as she felt like he did. Maybe she was just comparing it to the cold tingling feeling that had come from standing too close to him in his ghost state. She didn’t miss that reminder of how not real he was.

If Julie and Alex end up being the two who make out in my van that would be the twist of the decade,” Bobby joked. “Shut up, Bobby!” Alex and Luke yelled in unison.

Take care when wandering about, in the wilds of the valley and heights of jagged rock. What a horrific garden of wonderland we have stumbled into; where a turn of one’s heel can lead to flowering jubilation, and another leads to the twisted and thorny thicket of despair....