"My mind goes on working all the same.
In fact, the more head downwards I am, the more I keep inventing new things." "Now the cleverest thing of the sort that I ever did," he went on after a pause, "was inventing a new pudding during the meat-course." "In time to have it cooked for the next course ?" said Alice.

"Well, not the NEXT course," the Knight said in a slow thoughtful tone: "no, certainly not the next COURSE." "Then it would have to be the next day.

I suppose you wouldn't have two pudding-courses in one dinner ?" "Well, not the NEXT day," the Knight repeated as before: "not the next DAY.

In fact," he went on, holding his head down, and his voice getting lower and lower, "I don't believe that pudding ever WAS cooked! In fact, I don't believe that pudding ever WILL be cooked! And yet it was a very clever pudding to invent." "What did you mean it to be made of ?" Alice asked, hoping to cheer him up, for the poor Knight seemed quite low-spirited about it.
"It began with blotting paper," the Knight answered with a groan.
"That wouldn't be very nice, I'm afraid--" "Not very nice ALONE," he interrupted, quite eagerly: "but you've no idea what a difference it makes mixing it with other things--such as gunpowder and sealing-wax.

And here I must leave you." They had just come to the end of the wood.
Alice could only look puzzled: she was thinking of the pudding.
"You are sad," the Knight said in an anxious tone: "let me sing you a song to comfort you." "Is it very long ?" Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.
"It's long," said the Knight, "but very, VERY beautiful.