“I AM real!” said Alice and began to cry.

“You won’t make yourself a bit realler by crying,” Tweedledee remarked. “There’s nothing to cry about.”
“If I wasn’t real,” Alice said—half-laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—“I shouldn’t be able to cry.”
“I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?” Tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt.
—LEWIS CARROLL, Through the Looking-Glass