Lewis Carroll
Lewis Carroll
Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, better known by his pen name Lewis Carroll, was an English writer, mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon, and photographer. His most famous writings are Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, its sequel Through the Looking-Glass, which includes the poem "Jabberwocky", and the poem The Hunting of the Snark, all examples of the genre of literary nonsense. He is noted for his facility at word play, logic, and fantasy. There are societies in many parts of the world dedicated to the...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth27 January 1832
CityDaresbury, England
Child of the pure, unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy tale
Alice! A childish story take, And with a gentile hand Lay it where Childhood dreams are twined In memory's mystic band, Like pilgrim's withered wreath of flowers Pluck'd in a far off land.
You would have to be half mad to dream me up.
Well, it’s no use your talking about waking him, said Tweedledum, when you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real. I am real! said Alice, and began to cry. You won’t make yourself a bit realer by crying, Tweedledee remarked: there’s nothing to cry about. If I wasn’t real, Alice said– half laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous– I shouldn’t be able to cry. I hope you don’t think those are real tears? Tweedledee interrupted in a tone of great contempt.
Anon, to sudden silence won, In fancy they pursue The dream-child moving through the land Of wonders wild and new, In friendly chat with bird or beast - And half believe it true.
And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?
In a wonderland they lie, dreaming as the days go by
Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?
May we not then sometimes define insanity as an inability to distinguish which is the waking and which the sleeping life? We often dream without the least suspicion of unreality: 'Sleep hath its own world', and it is often as lifelike as the other.
Is all our Life, then but a dream Seen faintly in the golden gleam Athwart Time's dark resistless stream?
Child of the pure, unclouded brow and dreaming eyes of wonder.
Child of the pure unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale.
He was part of my dream, of course -- but then I was part of his dream, too.
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?