“Why is this,” she asked, again in that dreamy tone, “so much more real than that? One’s night, one’s day, why is this so much more real? That I can’t forget the things from the day, and I can’t remember the things from the night?”

“I don't see why God made any night; day is so much pleasanter…”

“I was going to ask him, yes I was. “You remember Blackberry Night?”The torches were alive with yellow butterfly-flames. “I can’t forget it.” His eyes were whiter than white.“You remember the thing we might have done that night, but it turned out to be a thing we didn’t do?” It was late and my tongue had gone bleary. “The thing you stopped us from doing?”“I especially can’t forget that.”I was asking about lust, wasn’t I? I was fairly certain of it. But isn’t love supposed to come before lust? It does in the dictionary.”

“The world is a giant eye, staring back at the stars. When it tires, it closes its lids--just as I am doing now--and gives way to dreams, which is why the night is so much more mysterious than the day.”

“I can’t believe THAT!” said Alice.Can’t you?” said the Queen in a pitying tone. “Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.”Alice laughed. “There’s no use trying,” she said, “one can’t believe impossible things.”I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!”

“The world is so beautiful, when you look at it.So detailed. So sharp. Everything’s just there--so much more than we need. Light we can’t see, sounds we can’t hear. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what it takes to make it real.”