“What is his sorrow?' She asked the Gryphon. And the Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as before, 'It's all his fancy, that: he hasn't got no sorrow, you know'.”

“It's all his fancy, that: he hasn't got no sorrow, you know. Come on!”

“The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on the slates. "What are they doing?" Alice whispered to the Gryphon. "They can't have anything to put down yet, before the trial's begun.""They're putting down their names," the Gryphon whispered in reply, "for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.”

“No," she said, answering his eyes. "I can never regret."[...]"I can sorrow," she offered gently, "but it's not the same thing.”

“How was your day?” she whispered.“It went as expected,” he said. “Mostly. No one died. All of the sentinels went through to the next round, but then nobody believed anything different would occur. Graydon—” His gold eyes danced suddenly. “You know what a big motherfucker Graydon is. He turned into a gryphon, and then he just sat down and looked at his opponent, who forfeited. It was the fastest bout of the day.”

“His massive head tilted. He regarded her with a gaze made tranquil by the bright sun and the limitless sky.She said in wonder, "You are the riddle.""Of course I am," said the gryphon.”