The further off from England the nearer is to France-_x000D_ _x000D_ Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Lewis CarrollRead
How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale! How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly he spreads his claws, And welcomes little fishes in, With gently smiling jaws!
Interpretation
This poem depicts the clever nature of a crocodile as it prepares to lure in its prey, reflecting themes of cunning and deception.
In this whimsical poem by Lewis Carroll, the little crocodile is portrayed as a cunning and cheerful creature, delighting in its ability to attract fish with its shiny tail and welcoming demeanor. The contrast between the crocodile's friendly appearance and its predatory nature serves as a reminder that appearances can be deceiving, highlighting the theme of deception in nature.
In practice
This quote could be used in a discussion about the nature of deceit in relationships.
The further off from England the nearer is to France-_x000D_ _x000D_ Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said 'I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head. Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be, Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me.
So she was considering in her own mind...whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up & picking the daisies.
Once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people.
Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.
Crawling at your feet,' said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some alarm), `you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin slices of Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.' And what does IT live on?' Weak tea with cream in it.' A new difficulty came into Alice's head. `Supposing it couldn't find any?' she suggested. Then it would die, of course.' But that must happen very often,' Alice remarked thoughtfully. It always happens,' said the Gnat.
In the modern world, all literary art is necessarily political -- especially that which pretends not to be.
Culture is perishing in overproduction, in an avalanche of words, in the madness of quantity.
We figured the audience would want good stories, great art, wonderful characters, people you could fall in love with that we would immediately put through hell.
For both art and the historical sciences are ways of experiencing in which our own understanding of existence is immediately brought into play.
If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from the man who wrote it.
And I was afraid. She frightens me because she can knock me down with a word. Because she does not know that writing is walking on a dizzying silence setting one word after the other on emptiness. Writing is miraculous and terrifying like the flight of a bird who has no wings but flings itself out and only gets wings by flying.
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