Welcome to the moor of my mind, to the bog of my mood. In this place you'll find reflections in a shattered mirror, shadows in an autumnal day, changing dark clouds in my mind's nocturnal sky. This place is such a stuff as dreams and nightmares are made on, a journey record which gives shape to a different world. Welcome to my world.
The King was saying, 'I assure you, my dear, I turned cold to the very end of my whiskers!' To which the Queen replied, 'You haven't got any whiskers.' 'The horror of that moment,' the King went on, 'I shall never, never forget!' 'You will, though,' the Queen said, 'if you don't make a memorandum of it.'