Wonderland Inspiring Quotes

I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then.

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.

Frost grows on the window glass, forming whorl patterns of lovely translucent geometry. Breathe on the glass, and you give frost more ammunition. Now it can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor. In a few blinks you can almost see the winter fairies moving in . . . But first, you hear the crackle of their wings.

what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?

A rose is still a rose, even hidden under different petals.

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

You're mad, bonkers, completely off your head. But i'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.

The executioner's argument was that you couldn't cut of something's head unless there was a trunk to sever it from. He'd never done anything like that in his time of life, and wasn't going to start now. The King's argument was that anything that had a head, could be beheaded, and you weren't to talk nonsense. The Queen's argument was that if something wasn't done about it in less than no time, she'd have everyone beheaded all round. It was this last argument that had everyone looking so nervous and uncomfortable.

Suddenly, the world I had scrutinised for so long was all around me, as if I had leaned forward and climbed into the television like Alice through the looking-glass. I had no idea just how deep the rabbit hole would go.

I think I could, if I only know how to begin.

Life just happens, Alice. What makes us special is how we react to it.

Words are very powerful. They live on forever and they can be shared again and again. Each one of us may find something different within them, but they have the power to truly guide us and impact us in our lives.

To be sure, this is what generally happens when one eats cake; but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.

Alice: Where Should I go? Cheshire Cat: That depends, where do you want to end up?

Your imagination is a wonderland full of realities.

It's no use going back to yesterday , because I was a different person then.

Your imagination s a wonderland full of realities.

I was just me, but that was enough.

Just think of how his book has inspired, affected, and shaped the minds of children for almost one hundred and fifty years. It's safe to say that Carroll's words weren't a stroke of luck, but of genius. Something in that book makes people relate. Wonderland must be real.

The Wonderland Wars,” Fabiola says. “What did you think those epic fantasies, the Lord of the Rings and Narnia, were about?” No words come out of my mouth. I’m starting to realize how Wonderland is connected to everything. “They were meant to inspire generations and educate them about the idea of good and evil in this world.” Fabiola stops to make sure I am following. “They were discreetly using literature to prepare generations for the Wonderland Wars.

First, I’d like to point out that I didn’t use ‘one of mine.’ You refused to let me pay for my ice cream cone with a good ol’ fashioned credit card, and you forced your pretend money on me. Secondly, I can’t take any currency seriously that looks like it belongs in a psychedelic-inspired Special Edition Monopoly box.

Life was strangely glorious like that sometimes; just as it could be cruel and unforgiving, so could it be a mysterious wonderland of unexpected joy and chance encounters.

Solen er forlængst dukket under synsranden, fjældene er blit hvitlig grønne, de ser ut i sin fjærnhet og i sin vælde som en verden for sig selv.

I want to do something important." "It's the little things that make all the difference in the world. The kind words we speak and the simple things we do for people.

Poetry purrs like a kitten on the tip of our tongue. Each word fluidly floating from our lips, like little crystalline snowflakes, before settling onto an emotional wonderland of forgotten feelings. It has the power to pull our deepest emotions to the surface of consciousness and to serenade our soul with the haunting melody of a self, lost... and finally found.

The bed of dandelions is a wonderland. They are all different colors and filled with so much magic. The fluffy heads looked like magic—tiny miracles that would work effortlessly to make your wish come true.

“I would’ve followed you anywhere,” he mumbles, his voice raw with agony. “All I ever wanted was to spend forever with my best friend. With the girl who gave life to my paintings. But I’m not the one who inspired your mosaics, am I? It was always Wonderland. That’s why you chose him.” “Chose him? It was a kiss, that’s all—” “It’s not the kiss. Sometimes words are louder than actions.” “Words . . . ? What words?” “The promise you gave him that you couldn’t give me.”

Never back, never back!... People don’t like going back, even if they must. I don’t like going back! And I’m not people! But I look back, sometimes, every so often, just to make sure I’m not leaving anything important behind. Like my tail! I can never be sure when I leave my tail behind me by mistake.

How can I be strong when I do not know my own mind? I am lost." "That's not true. You are not lost. It's just that your own thoughts are being kept from you, or hidden away. But the mind is strong. It survives, even without thought. Even with everything taken away, it holds a seed-- your self. You must believe in your own powers.

In logic class, I opened my textbook—the last place I was expecting to find comic inspiration—and was startled to find that Lewis Carroll, the supremely witty author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, was also a logician. He wrote logic textbooks and included argument forms based on the syllogism, normally presented in logic books this way: All men are mortal. Socrates is a man. _________________________________ Therefore, Socrates is mortal. But Carroll’s were more convoluted, and they struck me as funny in a new way: 1) Babies are illogical. 2) Nobody is despised who can manage a crocodile. 3) Illogical persons are despised. __________________________________________ Therefore, babies cannot manage crocodiles. And: 1) No interesting poems are unpopular among people of real taste. 2) No modern poetry is free from affectation. 3) All your poems are on the subject of soap bubbles. 4) No affected poetry is popular among people of taste. 5) Only a modern poem would be on the subject of soap bubbles. __________________________________________ Therefore, all your poems are uninteresting.

Early in a career that began in 1912 when he was 19 years old, Romain de Tirtoff, the Russian-born artists who called himself Erté after the french pronunciation of his initials, was regarded as a 'miraculous magician,' whose spectacular fashions transformed the ordinary into the outstanding, whose period costumes made the present vanish mystically into the past, and whose décors converted bare stages into sparkling wonderlands of fun and fancy. When his career ended with his death in 1990, Erté was considered as 'one of the twentieth-century's single most important influences on fashion,' 'a mirror of fashion for 75 years,' and the unchallenged 'prince of the music hall,' who had been accorded the most significant international honors in the field of design and whose work was represented in major museums and private collections throughout the world. It is not surprising that Erté's imaginative designs for fashion, theater, opera, ballet, music hall, film and commerce achieved such renown, for they are as crisp and innovative in their color and design as they are elegant and extravagant in character, and redolent of the romance of the pre- and post-Great War era, the period when Erté's hand became mature, fully developed and representative of its time. Art historians and scholars define Ertés unique style as transitional Art Deco, because it bridges the visual gab between fin-de-siècle schools of Symbolism, with its ethereal quality, Art Nouveau, with its high ornament, and the mid-1920s movement of Art Deco, with its inspirational sources and concise execution.

Travel with your thoughts to great land.

Imagination is a roller coaster ride in search of ideas and beauty into the wonderland of subconscious and conscious mind.

That sometimes when you're out in the world - he meant the mountains, the forests; he'd always lived here- you recognize the other parts of your soul

You wear a crown of roses. You’ve fully entered the next phase of your life: a crone and member of the wise council of women. You will be a part of the shift of ages. You will keep the flame of women’s work and women’s stories alive. You will change the world by doing so. It turns out, you’ve been a fire-walker your whole life. Now, you will teach others.

TOM CLARE From a child, I was gripped by the amazing imagination on display in Alice in Wonderland. In my teens, the wild and wacky Goon Show came into being on the radio. Later, I became a huge fan of Tom Sharpe and his wickedly funny books. The more Gothic writing of Daphne du Maurier, especially in Rebecca and Don't Look Now, and the time manipulation novels of William Boyd, linger in my memory. Absurdity, in all its forms, is my type of humour. In retirement, all these sources, together with the stranger events from my life, inspired me to take up writing.

This is not good, Alex was worried about something like this. But he has a back up plan for this kind of scenario.” Julie blinked up at him in surprise. “Um...what’s the back up plan?” She asked nervously. Reggie made a big show of dusting off his jacket sleeves and straightening his collar before answering with a worryingly enthusiastic tone. “Come on, we’ve got to go!” He started tugging her towards the door, her resistance not seeming to phase him. “Reggie! Hold on! What’s the back up plan?” He turned and gave her a smirk that did not inspire confidence. “Me.

Sepertinya, beberapa orang memang perlu ditampar agar termotivasi mengerjakan sesuatu, dan tidak terus berdiam di zona nyaman.

Yes good one- hold on tight- to ideas. At times, since we are talking so much about birds and all things avian, these flighty things do have a tendency to spread their gossamer wings and take flight. So you haven’t even begun to see it and it disappears from your view. At times you don’t even know how many of these frisky things you thought of and they instantly frolicked their way into some wonderland. There they remain latent. Sometimes for mere moments, sometimes days, sometimes months and years. And then in a flash. They come back without warning, at times stealthily, in our most unguarded moments- in bed, polishing shoes, rolling out a roti, driving or pooping and you are not prepared. They settle tentatively on your sleepy eyes for a second and before you know it, fly past you in a flash again, good for you if you hold them then and there, for if you think you will sit yourself down one day with the wrong end of the pen in your mouth, or the laptop loaded with the works, or the dream paints on the palette, to capture what you saw in your mind’s stratosphere- you just blink and find it’s just a blankness you see, no matter how hard you try, a blankness that stares with a baffling obduracy. At times you even forget that you forgot. The thought had yet not entered your conscious mind- it was just hovering between the sleeping world and the awake, and just falls off the edge. Never makes it. Yes they are flighty things.” She rounded it with a peal of laughter, amused with the little story she had concocted.

I never realized before that taking care of someone makes you love them more than when they take care of you.

Miss Liddell,” he’d groan, “this is all impossible! Don’t you understand that? It’s impossible!” Her expression was all seriousness, as if he’d hit a nerve. “Impossible…?” she’d say slowly, eyes shining. “Impossible is just a word.

Am I still the same Alice? Or have I become a better or worse one?” “Yes,” was the caterpillar’s reply. “Yes, to what?” “It doesn’t matter.

Don’t ever lose your smile. Don’t ever let anything take away the joy from your laugh. You never know when the taste of laughter on the tongue or the scent of happiness in the air might save one’s life.

We each share in innumerable physical and emotional experiences. Our like-kind responses to the external world connect every person together whoever walked this earth. Who has not seen death tap dancing amongst the shagged icicles of a winter wonderland? Who has not heard their hearts petals welcome the bloom of springtime’s opalescence? Who has not experienced the calm of leaves rusting beneath their feet or felt befallen with an overwhelming sense of regeneration after slathered in baptismal wetness by an unexpected rainstorm? Who has not drunk in the smoky smells of leaves burning in October, hunted solace in the singeing embrace of a campfire on a cold winter night, or sought to escape from summers burning blanket of oppression by dunking their overheated stovetop into a mountain stream of clear water? Who has not felt the cold kiss of winter or experienced the melted butter feeling of crawling into bed after a day of hard work? Who is exempt from the punch of hunger in their gut or immune from the enraged screams of an unquenchable thirst? Who has not broken out in a frisson of Goosebumps when passing the graveyard on an ill-omened evening and experienced the electric sensation of ghostly fingernails running down the tapered stem of their spine? Who has not fallen in love at first sight? Who has not danced on the edge of a cliff, stared into the gloom, and asked themselves what if they slipped over the lip? Who has not experienced the existential vertigo, the anxiety of dizziness that freedom brings whenever a human being standing in solitude navigates amongst the tension between the finite and infinite and contemplates the possibility or of the divine shaping reality?

The creator of Alice in Wonderland was not just an expert in poetic nonsense; Lewis Carroll (or Charles Dodgson, to use his real name) was also an Oxford mathematician with a taste for symbolic logic and a distaste, in the sunset of the Victorian era, for new-fangled maths theories and practices.

Well, in that case, it really doesn’t matter what you want.” Anger sparked inside me. “Of course it matters. This is my life. The path I choose matters.” “The path is inconsequential if you don’t know what you want. If you don’t know your destination, the path you take makes no difference.