It isn't a speech. It is a vanishing act performed with words.
So. Will you stay? Will you run? Will you argue with a flower? Will you weep because a flamingo won’t hold still? It doesn’t matter. I’ll be watching. Not because I care about the ending—endings are so terminal —but because I love the moment just before the ending. The pause. The doubt. The grin before the vanish.
You want to know which way to go? How delightfully… linear. The problem with paths is that people assume they lead to something. They don’t. Paths just lead away . Away from where you were standing a moment ago. And where you were standing a moment ago was just as good—or just as dreadful—as where you’re standing now. Cheshire Cat Monologue
Go ahead. Try it in the mirror. Let your lips curl. Let your eyes go wide and empty. Say the words slowly. And then, before you finish the last sentence… leave. Let the smile linger. That is where the magic lives.
No, no. You jumped. You just don’t remember. It isn't a speech
"Ah. You’ve arrived. I was beginning to think you’d taken the wrong turning. Or the right one. They’re the same thing here, you know. Mostly.
You look terribly concerned. That furrow in your brow? It’s like a tiny, anxious river. Let me smooth it. (He mimes smoothing the air.) There. No. Will you stay
So, whether you are an actor searching for the perfect audition piece, a director blocking a surrealist scene, or simply a dreamer staring at your ceiling, remember this: The Cheshire Cat never finishes a thought. He simply lets it float. And that, dear reader, is the greatest trick of the .