"Who are you?" said the caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation: Alice replied rather shyly, "I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since that."
"What do you mean by that?" said the caterpillar, "explain yourself!"
"I ca'n't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice, "because I'm not myself, you see."
"I don't see," said the caterpillar.
"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Alice replied very politely, "for I ca'n't understand it myself, and really to be so many different sizes in one day is very confusing."
"It isn't," said the caterpillar.
"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet," said Alice, "but when you have to turn into a chrysalis, you know, and then after that into a butterfly, I should think it'll feel a little queer, don't you think so?"
"Not a bit," said the caterpillar.
"All I know is," said Alice, "it would feel queer to me."