“I warned you; I warned you I was the Senses Taker," sneered the Senses Taker. "I help people find what they're not looking for, hear what they're not listening for, run after what they're not chasing, and smell what isn't even there. And, furthermore," he cackled, hopping around gleefully on his stubby legs, "I'll steal your sense of purpose, take your sense of duty, destroy your sense of proportion — and, but for one thing, you'd be helpless yet.""What's that?" asked Milo fearfully."As long as you have the sound of laughter," he groaned unhappily, "I cannot take your sense of humor — and, with it, you've nothing to fear from me.”

“I don't think you understand," said Milo timidly as the watchdog growled a warning. "We're looking for a place to spend the night.""It's not yours to spend," the bird shrieked again, and followed it with the same horrible laugh."That doesn't make any sense, you see—" he started to explain."Dollars or cents, it's still not yours to spend," the bird replied haughtily."But I didn't mean—" insisted Milo."Of course you're mean," interrupted the bird, closing the eye that had been open and opening the one that had been closed. "Anyone who'd spend a night that doesn't belong to him is very mean.""Well, I thought that by—" he tried again desperately."That's a different story," interjected the bird a bit more amiably. "If you want to buy, I'm sure I can arrange to sell, but with what you're doing you'll probably end up in a cell anyway.""That doesn't seem right," said Milo helplessly, for, with the bird taking everything the wrong way, he hardly knew what he was saying."Agreed," said the bird, with a sharp click of his beak, "but neither is it left, although if I were you I would have left a long time ago.”

“As the cheering continued, Rhyme leaned forward and touched Milo gently on the shoulder. "They're cheering for you," she said with a smile. "But I could never have done it," he objected, "without everyone else's help." "That may be true," said Reason gravely, "but you had the courage to try; and what you can do is often simply a matter of what you *will* do." "That's why," said Azaz, "there was one very important thing about your quest that we couldn't discuss until you returned. "I remember," said Milo eagerly. "Tell me now." "It was impossible," said the king, looking at the Mathemagician. "Completely impossible," said the Mathemagician, looking at the king. "Do you mean----" said the bug, who suddenly felt a bit faint. "Yes, indeed," they repeated together; "but if we'd told you then, you might not have gone---and, as you've discovered, so many things are possible just as long as you don't know they're impossible." And for the remainder of the ride Milo didn't utter a sound.”

“What a shame," signed the Dodecahedron. "They're so very useful. Why, did you know that if a beaver two feet long with a tail a foot and a half long can build a dam twelve feet high and six feet wide in two days, all you would need to build Boulder Dam is a beaver sixty-eight feet long with a fifty-one-foot tail?""Where would you find a beaver that big?" grumbled the Humbug as his pencil point snapped."I'm sure I don't know," he replied, "but if you did, you'd certainly know what to do with him.""That's absurd," objected Milo, whose head was spinning from all the numbers and questions."That may be true," he acknowledged, "but it's completely accurate, and as long as the answer is right, who cares if the question is wrong? If you want sense, you'll have to make it yourself.”

“We never choose which words to use, for as long as they mean what they mean to mean, we don’t care if they make sense or nonsense.”

“The Humbug whistled gaily at his work, for he was never as happy as when he had a job which required no thinking at all. After what seemed like days, he had dug a hole scarcely large enough for his thumb. Tock shuffled steadily back and forth with the dropper in his teeth, but the full well was still almost as full as when he began, and Milo's new pile of sand was hardly a pile at all."How very strange," said Milo, without stopping for a moment. "I've been working steadily all this time, and I don't feel the slightest bit tired or hungry. I could go right on the same way forever.""Perhaps you will," the man agreed with a yawn (at least it sounded like a yawn)."Well, I wish I knew how long it was going to take," Milo whispered as the dog went by again."Why not use your magic staff and find out?" replied Tock as clearly as anyone could with an eye dropper in his mouth. Milo took the shiny pencil from his pocket and quickly calculated that, at the rate they were working, it would take each of them eight hundred and thirty-seven years to finish."Pardon me," he said, tugging at the man's sleeve and holding the sheet of figures up for him to see, "but it's going to take eight hundred and thirty-seven years to do these jobs.""Is that so?" replied the man, without even turning around. "Well, you'd better get on with it then.""But it hardly seems worth while," said Milo softly."WORTH WHILE!" the man roared indignantly."All I meant was that perhaps it isn't too important," Milo repeated, trying not to be impolite."Of course it's not important," he snarled angrily. "I wouldn't have asked you to do it if I thought it was important." And now, as he turned to face them, he didn't seem quite so pleasant."Then why bother?" asked Tock, whose alarm suddenly began to ring."Because, my young friends," he muttered sourly, "what could be more important than doing unimportant things? If you stop to do enough of them, you'll never get to where you're going." He punctuated his last remark with a villainous laugh."Then you must -----" gasped Milo."Quite correct!" he shrieked triumphantly. "I am the Terrible Trivium, demon of petty tasks and worthless jobs, ogre of wasted effort, and monster of habit.”

“If you want sense, you'll have to make it yourself.”