Background Image

...

If Its Individual Citizens, To A Man, Are To Be Believed, It Always Is Depressed, And Always Is Stagnated, And Always Is At An Alarming Crisis, And Never Was Otherwise; Though As A Body, They Are Ready To Make Oath Upon The Evangelists, At Any Hour Of The Day Or Night, That It Is The Most Thriving And Prosperous Of All Countries On The Habitable Globe.

-Charles Dickens

...

Please Wait....
Translating....

If Its Individual Citizens,

Charles Dickens

...

If Its Individual Citizens, To A Man, Are To Be Believed, It Always Is Depressed, And Always Is Stagnated, And Always Is At An Alarming Crisis, And Never Was Otherwise; Though As A Body, They Are Ready To Make Oath Upon The Evangelists, At Any Hour Of The Day Or Night, That It Is The Most Thriving And Prosperous Of All Countries On The Habitable Globe.

Views: 7

Topic

More From Charles Dickens

My Heart Is Set, As Firmly As Ever Heart Of Man Was Set On Woman. I Have No Thought, No View, No Hope, In Life Beyond Her; And If You Oppose Me In This Great Stake, You Take My Peace And Happiness In Your Hands, And Cast Them To The Wind.

Christmas May Not Bring A Single Thing; Still, It Gives Me A Song To Sing.

All Through It, I Have Known Myself To Be Quite Undeserving. And Yet I Have Had The Weakness, And Have Still The Weakness, To Wish You To Know With What A Sudden Mastery You Kindled Me, Heap Of Ashes That I Am, Into Fire- A Fire, However, Inseparable In Its Nature From Myself, Quickening Nothing, Lighting Nothing, Doing No Service, Idly Burning Away.

I Wear The Chain I Forged In Life....i Made It Link By Link, And Yard By Yard; I Girded It On Of My Own Free Will, And Of My Own Free Will I Wore It.

There Was A Long Hard Time When I Kept Far From Me The Remembrance Of What I Had Thrown Away When I Was Quite Ignorant Of Its Worth.

I Have Been Bent And Broken, But - I Hope - Into A Better Shape.

Opening Her Eyes Again, And Seeing Her Husband's Face Across The Table, She Leaned Forward To Give It A Pat On The Cheek, And Sat Down To Supper, Declaring It To Be The Best Face In The World.

Their Demeanor Is Invariably Morose, Sullen, Clownish And Repulsive. I Should Think There Is Not, On The Face Of The Earth, A People So Entirely Destitute Of Humor, Vivacity, Or The Capacity For Enjoyment.

Break Their Hearts My Pride And Hope, Break Their Hearts And Have No Mercy. -miss Havisham

A Person Who Can't Pay Gets Another Person Who Can't Pay To Guarantee That He Can Pay. Like A Person With Two Wooden Legs Getting Another Person With Two Wooden Legs To Guarantee That He Has Got Two Natural Legs. It Don't Make Either Of Them Able To Do A Walking-match.

Guarantees That

Then Tell Wind And Fire Where To Stop," Returned Madame; "but Don't Tell Me.

Tale Of Two Cities

If Her Eyes Had No Expression, It Was Probably Because They Had Nothing To Express. If She Had Few Wrinkles, It Was Because Her Mind Had Never Traced Its Name Or Any Other Inscription On Her Face.

We Can Refute Assertions, But Who Can Refute Silence?

While The Flowers, Pale And Unreal In The Moonlight, Floated Away Upon The River; And Thus Do Greater Things That Once Were In Our Breasts, And Near Our Hearts, Flow From Us To The Eternal Sea.

There Either Is Or Is Not, That’s The Way Things Are. The Colour Of The Day. The Way It Felt To Be A Child. The Saltwater On Your Sunburnt Legs. Sometimes The Water Is Yellow, Sometimes It’s Red. But What Colour It May Be In Memory, Depends On The Day. I’m Not Going To Tell You The Story The Way It Happened. I’m Going To Tell It The Way I Remember It.

It Opens The Lungs, Washes The Countenance, Exercises The Eyes, And Softens Down The Temper; So Cry Away.

"hope, You See, Wal'r," Said The Captain, Sagely, "hope. It's That As Animates You. Hope Is A Buoy, For Which You Overhaul Your Little Warbler, Sentimental Diwision, But Lord, My Lad, Like Any Other Buoy, It Only Floats; It Can't Be Steered Nowhere. Along With The Figure-head Of Hope,' Said The Captain, 'there's A Anchor; But What's The Good Of My Having A Anchor, If I Can't Find No Bottom To Let It Go In?"

Love Is In All Things A Most Wonderful Teacher.

My Hair Stands On End At The Cost And Charges Of These Boys. Why Was I Ever A Father! Why Was My Father Ever A Father!

It Is Not Easy To Walk Alone In The Country Without Musing Upon Something.

It Has Always Been My Opinion Since I First Possessed Such A Thing As An Opinion, That The Man Who Knows Only One Subject Is Next Tiresome To The Man Who Knows No Subject. Therefore, In The Course Of My Life I Have Taught Myself Whatever I Could, And Although I Am Not An Educated Man, I Am Able, I Am Thankful To Say, To Have An Intelligent Interest In Most Things.

Words Of Wisdom

Mr. Cruncher... Always Spoke Of The Year Of Our Lord As Anna Dominoes: Apparently Under The Impression That The Christian Era Dated From The Invention Of A Popular Game, By A Lady Who Had Bestowed Her Name Upon It.

You Have Been The Last Dream Of My Soul.

My Daughter, There Are Times Of Moral Danger When The Hardest Virtuous Resolution To Form Is Flight, And When The Most Heroic Bravery Is Flight.

Words Of Wisdom

Is It Better To Have Had A Good Thing And Lost It, Or Never To Have Had It?

Love Her, Love Her, Love Her! If She Favours You, Love Her. If She Wounds You, Love Her. If She Tears Your Heart To Pieces – And As It Gets Older And Stronger, It Will Tear Deeper – Love Her, Love Her, Love Her!

Fledgeby Deserved Mr. Alfred Lammle's Eulogium. He Was The Meanest Cur Existing, With A Single Pair Of Legs. And Instinct (a Word We All Clearly Understand) Going Largely On Four Legs, And Reason Always On Two, Meanness On Four Legs Never Attains The Perfection Of Meanness On Two.

I Ate 'umble Pie With An Appetite.

She Dotes On Poetry, Sir. She Adores It; I May Say That Her Whole Soul And Mind Are Wound Up, And Entwined With It. She Has Produced Some Delightful Pieces, Herself, Sir. You May Have Met With Her 'ode To An Expiring Frog,' Sir.

The Jovial Party Broke Up Next Morning. Breakings-up Are Capital Things In Our School-days, But In After Life They Are Painful Enough. Death, Self-interest, And Fortune's Changes, Are Every Day Breaking Up Many A Happy Group, And Scattering Them Far And Wide; And The Boys And Girls Never Come Back Again.

... I Feel Certain That His Tale Is True. Feeling That Certainty, I Befriend Him. As Long As That Certainty Shall Last, I Will Befriend Him. And If Any Consideration Could Shake Me In This Resolve, I Should Be So Ashamed Of Myself For My Meanness, That No Man's Good Opinion - No, Nor No Woman's - So Gained, Could Compensate Me For The Loss Of My Own.

"she's A Very Charming And Delightful Creature," Quoth Mr. Robert Sawyer, In Reply; "and Has Only One Fault That I Know Of, Ben. It Happens, Unfortunately, That That Single Blemish Is A Want Of Taste. She Don't Like Me."

Buy An Annuity Cheap, And Make Your Life Interesting To Yourself And Everybody Else That Watches The Speculation.

I Took Her Hand In Mine, And We Went Out Of The Ruined Place; And, As The Morning Mists Had Risen Long Ago When I First Left The Forge, So, The Evening Mists Were Rising Now, And In All The Broad Expanse Of Tranquil Light They Showed To Me, I Saw No Shadow Of Another Parting From Her.

A Brisk, Bright, Blue-eyed Fellow, A Very Neat Figure And Rather Under The Middle Size, Never Out Of The Way And Never In It.

He Would Make A Lovely Corpse.

Procrastination Is The Thief Of Time, Collar Him.

Procrastination

And Can It Be That In A World So Full And Busy The Loss Of One Creature Makes A Void So Wide And Deep That Nothing But The Width And Depth Of Eternity Can Fill It Up!

-why Don't You Cry Again, You Little Wretch? -because I'll Never Cry For You Again.

When Death Strikes Down The Innocent And Young, For Every Fragile Form From Which He Lets The Panting Spirit Free, A Hundred Virtues Rise, In Shapes Of Mercy, Charity, And Love, To Walk The World And Bless It. Of Every Tear That Sorrowing Mortals Shed On Such Green Graves, Some Good Is Born, Some Gentler Nature Comes.

How Many Families, Whose Members Have Been Dispersed And Scattered Far And Wide, In The Restless Struggles Of Life, Are Then Reunited, And Meet Once Again In That Happy State Of Companionship And Mutual Goodwill, Which Is A Source Of Such Pure And Unalloyed Delight; And One So Incompatible With The Cares And Sorrows Of The World, That The Religious Belief Of The Most Civilized Nations, And The Rude Traditions Of The Roughest Savages, Alike Number It Among The First Joys Of A Future Condition Of Existence, Provided For The Blessed And Happy!

There Are Dark Shadows On The Earth, But Its Lights Are Stronger In The Contrast. Some Men, Like Bats Or Owls, Have Better Eyes For The Darkness Than For The Light. We, Who Have No Such Optical Powers, Are Better Pleased To Take Our Last Parting Look At The Visionary Companions Of Many Solitary Hours, When The Brief Sunshine Of The World Is Blazing Full Upon Them.

You Should Know," Said Estella. "i Am What You Have Made Me. Take All The Praise, Take All The Blame; Take All The Success, Take All The Failure; In Short, Take Me.

He Knew Enough Of The World To Know That There Is Nothing In It Better Than The Faithful Service Of The Heart.

But The Mere Truth Won't Do. You Must Have A Lawyer.

She Was Truest To Them In The Season Of Trial, As All The Quietly Loyal And Good Will Always Be.

But The Moon Came Slowly Up In All Her Gentle Glory, And The Stars Looked Out, And Through The Small Compass Of The Grated Window, As Through The Narrow Crevice Of One Good Deed In A Murky Life Of Guilt, The Face Of Heaven Shone Bright And Merciful. He Raised His Head; Gazed Upward At The Quiet Sky, Which Seemed To Smile Upon The Earth In Sadness, As If The Night, More Thoughtful Than The Day, Looked Down In Sorrow On The Sufferings And Evil Deeds Of Men; And Felt Its Peace Sink Deep Into His Heart.

Rich Folks May Ride On Camels, But It Ain't So Easy For 'em To See Out Of A Needle's Eye.

We Still Leave Unblotted In The Leaves Of Our Statute Book, For The Reverence And Admiration Of Successive Ages, The Just And Wholesome Law Which Declares That The Sturdy Felon Shall Be Fed And Clothed, And That The Penniless Debtor Shall Be Left To Die Of Starvation And Nakedness. This Is No Fiction.

Novelties Please Less Than They Impress.

When The Wind Is Blowing And The Sleet Or Rain Is Driving Against The Dark Windows, I Love To Sit By The Fire, Thinking Of What I Have Read In Books Of Voyage And Travel.

He Was Drunk Upon The Average Once A Day, And Penitent Upon An Equally Fair Calculation Once A Month; And When He Was Penitent, He Was Invariably In The Very Last Stage Of Maudlin Intoxication. He Was A Ragged, Roving, Roaring Kind Of Fellow, With A Burly Form, A Sharp Wit, And A Ready Head, And Could Turn His Hand To Anything When He Chose To Do It.

A Heart Well Worth Winning, And Well Won. A Heart That, Once Won, Goes Through Fire And Water For The Winner, And Never Changes, And Is Never Daunted.

She Was The Most Wonderful Woman For Prowling About The House. How She Got From One Story To Another Was A Mystery Beyond Solution. A Lady So Decorous In Herself, And So Highly Connected, Was Not To Be Suspected Of Dropping Over The Banisters Or Sliding Down Them, Yet Her Extraordinary Facility Of Locomotion Suggested The Wild Idea.

"it's An Old Habit Of Mine, Wal'r," Said The Captain, "any Time These Fifty Year. When You See Ned Cuttle Bite His Nails, Wal'r, Then You May Know That Ned Cuttle's Aground."

There Is A Sunday Conscience As Well As A Sunday Coat; And Those Who Make Religion A Secondary Concern Put The Coat And Conscience Carefully By To Put On Only Once A Week.

Love, Though Said To Be Afflicted With Blindness, Is A Vigilant Watchman.

In Seasons Of Pestilence, Some Of Us Will Have A Secret Attraction To The Disease--a Terrible Passing Inclination To Die Of It.

May I Tell You Why It Seems To Me A Good Thing For Us To Remember Wrong That Has Been Done Us? That We May Forgive It.

It Will Be Your Duty, And It Will Be Your Pleasure Too To Estimate Her (as You Chose Her) By The Qualities That She Has, And Not By The Qualities She May Not Have.

He Was Bolder In The Daylight-most Men Are.

Words Of Wisdom

Nothing Of What Is Nobly Done Is Ever Lost.

We Know, Mr. Weller - We, Who Are Men Of The World - That A Good Uniform Must Work Its Way With The Women, Sooner Or Later.

Have A Heart That Never Hardens

I See A Beautiful City And A Brilliant People Rising From This Abyss. I See The Lives For Which I Lay Down My Life, Peaceful, Useful, Prosperous And Happy. I See That I Hold A Sanctuary In Their Hearts, And In The Hearts Of Their Descendants, Generations Hence. It Is A Far, Far Better Thing That I Do, Than I Have Ever Done; It Is A Far, Far Better Rest That I Go To Than I Have Ever Known.

Let The Tears Which Fell, And The Broken Words Which Were Exchanged In The Long Close Embrace Between The Orphans, Be Sacred. A Father, Sister, And Mother, Were Gained, And Lost, In That One Moment. Joy And Grief Were Mingled In The Cup; But There Were No Bitter Tears: For Even Grief Arose So Softened, And Clothed In Such Sweet And Tender Recollections, That It Became A Solemn Pleasure, And Lost All Character Of Pain.

I Never Had One Hour's Happiness In Her Society, And Yet My Mind All Round The Four-and-twenty Hours Was Harping On The Happiness Of Having Her With Me Unto Death.

As He Glided Stealthily Along, Creeping Beneath The Shelter Of The Walls And Doorways, The Hideous Old Man Seemed Like Some Loathsome Reptile, Engendered In The Slime And Darkness Through Which He Moved: Crawling Forth, By Night, In Search Of Some Rich Offal For A Meal.

There Was Something Very Comfortable In Having Plenty Of Stationery.

My Meaning Is, That No Man Can Expect His Children To Respect What He Degrades.

It Was The Beginning Of A Day In June; The Deep Blue Sky Unsullied By A Cloud, And Teeming With Brilliant Light. The Streets Were, As Yet, Nearly Free From Passengers, The Houses And Shops Were Closed, And The Healthy Air Of Morning Fell Like Breath From Angels, On The Sleeping Town.

Reflect Upon Your Present Blessings Of Which Every Man Has Many - Not On Your Past Misfortunes, Of Which All Men Have Some.

Great Men Are Seldom Over-scrupulous In The Arrangement Of Their Attire.

That, They Never Could Lay Their Heads Upon Their Pillows; That, They Never Could Tolerate The Idea Of Their Wives Laying Their Heads Upon Their Pillows; That, They Never Could Endure The Notion Of Their Children Laying Their Heads Upon Their Pillows; In Short, That There Never More Could Be, For Them Or Theirs, Any Laying Of Heads Upon Pillows At All, Unless The Prisoner's Head Was Taken Off.

Come, Then," Returned The Nephew Gaily. "what Right Have You To Be Dismal? What Reason Have You To Be Morose? You're Rich Enough.

Christmas Carol

Over The Whole, A Young Lady Presided, Whose Gloomy Haughtiness As She Surveyed The Street, Announced A Deep-seated Grievance Against Society, And An Implacable Determination To Be Avenged.

The Clouds Were Flying Fast, The Wind Was Coming Up In Gusts, Banging Some Neighboring Shutters That Had Broken Loose, Twirling The Rusty Chimney-cowls And Weathercocks, And Rushing Round And Round A Confined Adjacent Churchyard As If It Had A Mind To Blow The Dead Citizens Out Of Their Graves. The Low Thunder, Muttering In All Quarters Of The Sky At Once, Seemed To Threaten Vengeance For This Attempted Desecration, And To Mutter, "let Them Rest! Let Them Rest!

And, Unlike The Celebrated Herd In The Poem, They Were Not Forty Children Conducting Themselves As One, But Every Child Was Conducting Itself Like Forty.

But I Am Sure That I Have Always Thought Of Christmas Time, When It Has Come Round...as A Good Time; A Kind, Forgiving, Charitable, Pleasant Time; The Only Time I Know Of, In The Long Calendar Of The Year, When Men And Women Seem By One Consent To Open Their Shut-up Hearts Freely.

The Young Woman Who Brought Me Acquainted With Captain Murderer Had A Fiendish Enjoyment Of My Terrors, And Used To Begin, I Remember - As A Sort Of Introductory Overture - By Clawing The Air With Both Hands, And Uttering A Long Low Hollow Groan. So Acutely Did I Suffer From This Ceremony In Combination With This Infernal Captain, That I Sometimes Used To Plead I Thought I Was Hardly Strong Enough And Old Enough To Hear The Story Again Just Yet.

Possibly We Might Even Improve The World A Little, If We Got Up Early In The Morning, And Took Off Our Coats To The Work.

A Man Must Take The Fat With The Lean.

The World Belongs To Those Who Set Out To Conquer It Armed With Self Confidence And Good Humour.

Self Confidence

I Had Seen The Damp Lying On The Outside Of My Little Window, As If Some Goblin Had Been Crying There All Night, And Using The Window For A Pocket-handkerchief.

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times, It Was The Age Of Wisdom, It Was The Age Of Foolishness, It Was The Epoch Of Belief, It Was The Epoch Of Incredulity, It Was The Season Of Light, It Was The Season Of Darkness, It Was The Spring Of Hope, It Was The Winter Of Despair.

All Other Swindlers Upon Earth Are Nothing To The Self-swindlers, And With Such Pretences Did I Cheat Myself.

Gold, For The Instant, Lost Its Luster In His Eyes, For There Were Countless Treasures Of The Heart Which It Could Never Purchase

I Made A Compact With Myself That In My Person Literature Should Stand By Itself, Of Itself, And For Itself.

It Is A Fair, Even-handed, Noble Adjustment Of Things, That While There Is Infection In Disease And Sorrow, There Is Nothing In The World So Irresistibly Contagious As Laughter And Good Humour.

Let No Man Turn Aside, Ever So Slightly, From The Broad Path Of Honour, On The Plausible Pretence That He Is Justified By The Goodness Of His End. All Good Ends Can Be Worked Out By Good Means.

... I Had A Latent Impression That There Was Something Decidedly Fine In Mr. Wopsle's Elocution - Not For Old Associations' Sake, I Am Afraid, But Because It Was Very Slow, Very Dreary, Very Up-hill And Down-hill, And Very Unlike Any Way In Which Any Man In Any Natural Circumstances Of Life Or Death Ever Expressed Himself About Anything.

She Writhes Under Her Life. A Woman More Angry, Passionate, Reckless, And Revengeful Never Lived.

Château And Hut, Stone Face And Dangling Figure, The Red Stain On The Stone Floor, And The Pure Water In The Village Well-thousands Of Acres Of Land-a Whole Province Of France-all France Itself-lay Under The Night Sky, Concentrated Into A Faint Hairbreadth Line. So Does A Whole World, With All Its Greatnesses And Littlenesses, Lie In A Twinkling Star.

Love Is Not A Feeling To Pass Away Like The Balmy Breath Of A Summer's Day....... Love Is Not A Passion Of Earthly Mould As A Thirst For Honour, Or Fame, Or Gold

Crush Humanity Out Of Shape Once More, Under Similar Hammers, And It Will Twist Itself Into The Same Tortured Forms. Sow The Same Seeds Of Rapacious Licence And Oppression Over Again, And It Will Surely Yield The Same Fruit According To Its Kind.

Mr. Pickwick Took A Seat And The Paper, But Instead Of Reading The Latter, Peeped Over The Top Of It, And Took A Survey Of The Man Of Business, Who Was An Elderly, Pimply-faced, Vegetable-diet Sort Of Man, In A Black Coat, Dark Mixture Trousers, And Small Black Gaiters; A Kind Of Being Who Seemed To Be An Essential Part Of The Desk At Which He Was Writing, And To Have As Much Thought Or Sentiment.

On The Motionless Branches Of Some Trees, Autumn Berries Hung Like Clusters Of Coral Beads, As In Those Fabled Orchards Where The Fruits Were Jewels . . .

‎and Yet I Have Had The Weakness, And Have Still The Weakness, To Wish You To Know With What A Sudden Mastery You Kindled Me, Heap Of Ashes That I Am, Into Fire.

Electric Communication Will Never Be A Substitute For The Face Of Someone Who With Their Soul Encourages Another Person To Be Brave And True.

Thought Provoking

When They Took A Young Man Into Tellson's London House, They Hid Him Somewhere Till He Was Old. They Kept Him In A Dark Place, Like A Cheese, Until He Had The Full Tellson Flavour And Blue-mould Upon Him. Then Only Was He Permitted To Be Seen, Spectacularly Poring Over Large Books, And Casting His Breeches And Gaiters Into The General Weight Of The Establishment.

I Only Ask To Be Free. The Butterflies Are Free. Mankind Will Surely Not Deny To Harold Skimpole What It Concedes To The Butterflies.

... Still His Philanthropy Was Of That Gunpowderous Sort That The Difference Between It And Animosity Was Hard To Determine.

In Fine Weather The Old Gentelman Is Almost Constantly In The Garden; And When It Is Too Wet To Go Into It, He Will Look Out The Window At It, By The Hour Together. He Has Always Something To Do There, And You Will See Him Digging, And Sweeping, And Cutting, And Planting, With Manifest Delight.

I Mean A Man Whose Hopes And Aims May Sometimes Lie (as Most Men's Sometimes Do, I Dare Say) Above The Ordinary Level, But To Whom The Ordinary Level Will Be High Enough After All If It Should Prove To Be A Way Of Usefulness And Good Service Leading To No Other. All Generous Spirits Are Ambitious, I Suppose, But The Ambition That Calmly Trusts Itself To Such A Road, Instead Of Spasmodically Trying To Fly Over It, Is Of The Kind I Care For.

Day Was Breaking At Plashwater Weir Mill Lock. Stars Were Yet Visible, But There Was Dull Light In The East That Was Not The Light Of Night. The Moon Had Gone Down, And A Mist Crept Along The Banks Of The River, Seen Through Which The Trees Were The Ghosts Of Trees, And The Water Was The Ghost Of Water. This Earth Looked Spectral, And So Did The Pale Stars: While The Cold Eastern Glare, Expressionless As To Heat Or Colour, With The Eye Of The Firmament Quenched, Might Have Been Likened To The Stare Of The Dead.

It Is An Old Prerogative Of Kings To Govern Everything But Their Passions.

He Wore A Sprinkling Of Powder Upon His Head, As If To Make Himself Look Benevolent; But If That Were His Purpose, He Would Perhaps Have Done Better To Powder His Countenance Also, For There Was Something In Its Very Wrinkles, And In His Cold Restless Eye, Which Seemed To Tell Of Cunning That Would Announce Itself In Spite Of Him.

At Last, In The Dead Of The Night, When The Street Was Very Still Indeed, Little Dorrit Laid The Heavy Head Upon Her Bosom, And Soothed Her To Sleep. And Thus She Sat At The Gate, As It Were Alone; Looking Up At The Stars, And Seeing The Clouds Pass Over Them In Their Wild Flight-which Was The Dance At Little Dorrit's Party.

Oh Agnes, Oh My Soul, So May Thy Face Be By Me When I Close My Life Indeed; So May I, When Realities Are Melting From Me, Like The Shadows Which I Now Dismiss, Still Find Thee Near Me, Pointing Upward!

Nature Gives To Every Time And Season Some Beauties Of Its Own.

The Last Trumpet Ever To Be Sounded Shall Blow Even Algebra To Wreck.

He Had A Sense Of His Dignity, Which Was Of The Most Exquisite Nature. He Could Detect A Design Upon It When Nobody Else Had Any Perception Of The Fact. His Life Was Made An Agony By The Number Of Fine Scalpels That He Felt To Be Incessantly Engaged In Dissecting His Dignity.

If The World Go Wrong, It Was, In Some Off-hand Manner, Never Meant To Go Right.

Please, Sir, I Want Some More.

The Heavy Rain Beat Down The Tender Branches Of Vine And Jessamine, And Trampled On Them In Its Fury; And When The Lightning Gleamed, It Showed The Tearful Leaves Shivering And Cowering Together At The Window, And Tapping At It Urgently, As If Beseeching To Be Sheltered From The Dismal Night.

He Was A Very Young Boy; Quite A Little Child. His Hair Still Hung In Curls About His Face, And His Eyes Were Very Bright; But Their Light Was Of Heaven, Not Earth.

That Sort Of Half Sigh, Which, Accompanied By Two Or Three Slight Nods Of The Head, Is Pity's Small Change In General Society.

It Being A Remarkable Fact In Theatrical History, But One Long Since Established Beyond Dispute, That It Is A Hopeless Endeavor To Attract People To A Theatre Unless They Can Be First Brought To Believe That They Will Never Get In.

And Yet I Love Him. I Love Him So Much And So Dearly, That When I Sometimes Think My Life May Be But A Weary One, I Am Proud Of It And Glad Of It. I Am Proud And Glad To Suffer Something For Him, Even Though It Is Of No Service To Him, And He Will Never Know Of It Or Care For It.

Mr Jarndyce, And Prevented His Going Any Farther, When He Had Remarked That There Were Two Classes Of Charitable People: One, The People Who Did A Little And Made A Great Deal Of Noise; The Other, The People Who Did A Great Deal And Made No Noise At All.

Heaven Suits The Back To The Burden.

Then, At The End Of Every Hand, Miss Bolo Would Inquire With A Dismal Countenance And Reproachful Sigh, Why Mr. Pickwick Had Not Returned That Diamond, Or Led The Club, Or Roughed The Spade, Or Finessed The Heart, Or Led Through The Honour, Or Brought Out The Ace, Or Played Up To The King, Or Some Such Thing; And In Reply To All These Grave Charges, Mr. Pickwick Would Be Wholly Unable To Plead Any Justification Whatever, Having By This Time Forgotten All About The Game.

Sir," Returned Mrs. Sparsit, " I Cannot Say That I Have Heard Him Precisely Snore, And Therefore Must Not Make That Statement. But On Winter Evenings, When He Has Fallen Asleep At His Table, I Have Heard Him, What I Should Prefer To Describe As Partially Choke. I Have Heard Him On Such Occasions Produce Sounds Of A Nature Similar To What May Be Heard In Dutch Clocks. Not," Said Mrs. Sparsit, With A Lofty Sense Of Giving Strict Evidence, " That I Would Convey Any Imputation On His Moral Character. Far From It.

Affery, Like Greater People, Had Always Been Right In Her Facts, And Always Wrong In The Theories She Deduced From Them.

Words Of Wisdom

It Is A Most Miserable Thing To Feel Ashamed Of Home.

Words Of Wisdom

Old Marley Was As Dead As A Doornail. Mind! I Don't Mean To Say That, Of My Own Knowledge, What There Is Particularly Dead About A Doornail. I Might Have Been Inclined, Myself, To Regard A Coffin-nail As The Deadest Piece Of Ironmongery In The Trade. But The Wisdom Of Our Ancestors Is In The Simile; And My Unhallowed Hands Shall Not Disturb It, Or The Country's Done For. You Will Therefore Permit Me To Repeat, Emphatically, That Marley Was As Dead As A Doornail.

Do All The Good You Can And Make As Little Fuss About It As Possible.

Think Now And Then That There Is A Man Who Would Give His Life, To Keep A Life You Love Beside You.

In Every Life, No Matter How Full Or Empty Ones Purse, There Is Tragedy. It Is The One Promise Life Always Fulfills. Thus, Happiness Is A Gift, And The Trick Is Not To Expect It, But To Delight In It When It Comes, And To Add To Other Peoples Store Of It.

I Will Live In The Past, The Present, And The Future. The Spirits Of All Three Shall Strive Within Me.

Dombey And Son Had Often Dealt In Hides, But Never In Hearts. They Left That Fancy Ware To Boys And Girls, And Boarding-schools And Books. Mr. Dombey Would Have Reasoned: That A Matrimonial Alliance With Himself Must, In The Nature Of Things, Be Gratifying And Honourable To Any Woman Of Common Sense. That The Hope Of Giving Birth To A New Partner In Such A House, Could Not Fail To Awaken A Glorious And Stirring Ambition In The Breast Of The Least Ambitious Of Her Sex.

Christmas Was Close At Hand, In All His Bluff And Hearty Honesty; It Was The Season Of Hospitality, Merriment, And Open-heartedness; The Old Year Was Preparing, Like An Ancient Philosopher, To Call His Friends Around Him, And Amidst The Sound Of Feasting And Revelry To Pass Gently And Calmly Away.

The More Man Knows Of Man, The Better For The Common Brotherhood Among Men.

There Are Only Two Styles Of Portrait Painting; The Serious And The Smirk.

Many Merry Christmases, Many Happy New Years. Unbroken Friendships, Great Accumulations Of Cheerful Recollections And Affections On Earth, And Heaven For Us All.

Let Us Leave Our Old Friend In One Of Those Moments Of Unmixed Happiness Which, If We Seek Them, There Are Ever Some, To Cheer Our Transitory Existence Here. There Are Dark Shadows On The Earth, But Its Lights Are Stronger In The Contrast.

My Imagination Would Never Have Served Me As It Has, But For The Habit Of Commonplace, Humble, Patient, Daily, Toiling, Drudging Attention

It Can't Be Supposed," Said Joe. "tho' I'm Oncommon Fond Of Reading, Too." Are You, Joe?" Oncommon. Give Me," Said Joe, "a Good Book, Or A Good Newspaper, And Sit Me Down Afore A Good Fire, And I Ask No Better. Lord!" He Continued, After Rubbing His Knees A Little, "when You Do Come To A J And A O, And Says You, 'here, At Last, Is A J-o, Joe,' How Interesting Reading Is!

"but Even If He Has Been Wicked," Pursued Rose, "think How Young He Is; Think That He May Never Have Known A Mother's Love, Or The Comfort Of A Home; That Ill-usage And Blows, Or The Want Of Bread, May Have Driven Him To Herd With Men Who Have Forced Him To Guilt. Aunt, Dear Aunt, For Mercy's Sake, Think Of This, Before You Let Them Drag This Sick Child To A Prison, Which In Any Case Must Be The Grave Of All His Chances Of Amendment."

Whatever I Have Tried To Do In Life, I Have Tried With All My Heart To Do It Well; Whatever I Have Devoted Myself To, I Have Devoted Myself Completely; In Great Aims And In Small I Have Always Thoroughly Been In Earnest.

Mr. And Mrs. Boffin Sat Staring At Mid-air, And Mrs. Wilfer Sat Silently Giving Them To Understand That Every Breath She Drew Required To Be Drawn With A Self-denial Rarely Paralleled In History.

The First Diabolical Character Who Intruded Himself On My Peaceful Youth (as I Called To Mind That Day At Dullborough), Was A Certain Captain Murderer. This Wretch Must Have Been An Off-shoot Of The Blue Beard Family, But I Had No Suspicion Of The Consanguinity In Those Times. His Warning Name Would Seem To Have Awakened No General Prejudice Against Him, For He Was Admitted Into The Best Society And Possessed Immense Wealth. Captain Murderer's Mission Was Matrimony, And The Gratification Of A Cannibal Appetite With Tender Brides.

I Believe That The Heaviest Blow Ever Dealt At Liberty's Head Will Be Dealt By This Nation In The Ultimate Failure Of Its Example To The Earth.

The Most Important Thing In Life Is To Stop Saying 'i Wish' And Start Saying 'i Will.' Consider Nothing Impossible, Then Treat Possibilities As Probabilities.

"well, Well!" Said My Aunt. "i Only Ask. I Don't Depreciate Her. Poor Little Couple! And So You Think You Were Formed For One Another, And Are To Go Through A Party-supper-table Kind Of Life, Like Two Pretty Pieces Of Confectionery, Do You, Trot?"

If I May Ride With You, Citizen Evremonde, Will You Let Me Hold Your Hand? I Am Not Afraid, But I Am Little And Weak, And It Will Give Me More Courage." As The Patient Eyes Were Lifted To His Face, He Saw A Sudden Doubt In Them, And Then Astonishment. He Pressed The Work-worn, Hunger-worn Young Fingers, And Touched His Lips. "are You Dying For Him?" She Whispered. "and His Wife And Child. Hush! Yes." "oh, You Will Let Me Hold Your Brave Hand, Stranger?" "hush! Yes, My Poor Sister; To The Last.

Ah, Miss Harriet, It Would Do Us No Harm To Remember Oftener Than We Do, That Vices Are Sometimes Only Virtues Carried To Excess!

You May Be An Undigested Bit Of Beef, A Blot Of Mustard, A Crumb Of Cheese, A Fragment Of Underdone Potato. There's More Of Gravy Than Of Grave About You, Whatever You Are!

That Glorious Vision Of Doing Good Is So Often The Sanguine Mirage Of So Many Good Minds.

One Always Begins To Forgive A Place As Soon As It's Left Behind.

It Had Grown Darker As They Talked, And The Wind Was Sawing And The Sawdust Was Whirling Outside Paler Windows. The Underlying Churchyard Was Already Settling Into Deep Dim Shade, And The Shade Was Creeping Up To The Housetops Among Which They Sat. "as If," Said Eugene, "as If The Churchyard Ghosts Were Rising."

Mystery And Disappointment Are Not Absolutely Indispensable To The Growth Of Love, But They Are, Very Often, Its Powerful Auxiliaries.

Mankind Was My Business... Charity, Mercy, Forbearance, Benevolence, Were All My Business.

There Is No Such Passion In Human Nature, As The Passion For Gravy Among Commercial Gentlemen.

"would You, Do You, My Dear?" Rejoined The Captain ... "i Don't Know. It's Difficult Navigation. She's Very Hard To Carry On With, My Dear. You Never Can Tell How She'll Head, You See. She's Full One Minute, And Round Upon You Next."

But, In This Separation I Associate You Only With The Good And I Will Faithfully Hold You To That Always, For You Have Done Far More Good Than Harm, Let Me Feel Now What Sharp Distress I May.

Great Expectations

Oh The Nerves, The Nerves; The Mysteries Of This Machine Called Man! Oh The Little That Unhinges It, Poor Creatures That We Are!

Marley Was Dead, To Begin With ... This Must Be Distintly Understood, Or Nothing Wonderful Can Come Of The Story I Am Going To Relate.

The Clouds Were Drifting Over The Moon At Their Giddiest Speed, At One Time Wholly Obscuring Her, At Another, Suffering Her To Burst Forth In Full Splendor And Shed Her Light On All The Objects Around; Anon, Driving Over Her Again, With Increased Velocity, And Shrouding Everything In Darkness.

Try Not To Associate Bodily Defect With Mental, My Good Friend, Except For A Solid Reason

Polly Put The Kettle On, We'll All Have Tea.

Other Sound Than The Owl's Voice There Was None, Save The Falling Of A Fountain Into Its Stone Basin; For, It Was One Of Those Dark Nights That Hold Their Breath By The Hour Together, And Then Heave A Long Low Sigh, And Hold Their Breath Again.

In A Utilitarian Age, Of All Other Times, It Is A Matter Of Grave Importance That Fairy Tales Should Be Respected.

For Though We Are Perpetually Bragging Of It As Our Safety, It Is Nothing But A Poor Fringe On The Mantle Of The Upper.

Oh! Captive, Bound, And Double-ironed," Cried The Phantom, "not To Know, That Ages Of Incessant Labour, By Immortal Creatures, For This Earth Must Pass Into Eternity Before The Good Of Which It Is Susceptible Is All Developed. Not To Know That Any Christian Spirit Working Kindly In Its Little Sphere, Whatever It May Be, Will Find Its Mortal Life Too Short For Its Vast Means Of Usefulness. Not To Know That No Space Of Regret Can Make Amends For One Life's Opportunity Misused!

The White Face Of The Winter Day Came Sluggishly On, Veiled In A Frosty Mist; And The Shadowy Ships In The River Slowly Changed To Black Substances; And The Sun, Blood-red On The Eastern Marshes Behind Dark Masts And Yards, Seemed Filled With The Ruins Of A Forest It Had Set On Fire.

I Am What You Designed Me To Be.i Am Your Blade. You Cannot Now Complain If You Also Feel The Hurt

Papa, Potatoes, Poultry, Prunes And Prism, Are All Very Good Words For The Lips.

He Lowered The Window, And Looked Out At The Rising Sun. There Was A Ridge Of Ploughed Land, With A Plough Upon It Where It Had Been Left Last Night When The Horses Were Unyoked; Beyond, A Quiet Coppice-wood, In Which Many Leaves Of Burning Red And Golden Yellow Still Remained Upon The Trees. Though The Earth Was Cold And Wet, The Sky Was Clear, And The Sun Rose Bright, Placid, And Beautiful.

"i Fear Your Kind And Open Communication, Which Has Rendered Me More Painfully Conscious Of My Own Defects, Has Not Improved Me," Sighed Kate.

You Are Part Of My Existence, Part Of Myself. You Have Been In Every Line I Have Ever Read, Since I First Came Here, The Rough Common Boy Whose Poor Heart You Wounded Even Then. You Have Been In Every Prospect I Have Ever Seen Since-on The River, On The Sails Of The Ships, On The Marshes, In The Clouds, In The Light, In The Darkness, In The Wind, In The Woods, In The Sea, In The Streets. You Have Been The Embodiment Of Every Graceful Fancy That My Mind Has Ever Become Acquainted With.

I Don't Remember Forms Or Faces Now, But I Know The Girl Was Beautiful. I Know She Was; For In The Bright Moonlight Nights, When I Start From My Sleep, And All Is Quiet About Me, I See, Standing Still And Motionless In One Corner Of This Cell, A Slight And Wasted Figure With Long Black Hair, Which Streaming Down Her Back, Stirs With No Earthly Wind, And Eyes That Fix Their Gaze On Me, And Never Wink Or Close.

Around And Around The House The Leaves Fall Thick, But Never Fast, For They Come Circling Down With A Dead Lightness That Is Sombre And Slow.

The Haggard Aspect Of The Little Old Man Was Wonderfully Suited To The Place; He Might Have Groped Among Old Churches And Tombs And Deserted Houses And Gathered All The Spoils With His Own Hands. There Was Nothing In The Whole Collection But Was In Keeping With Himself Nothing That Looked Older Or More Worn Than He.

For It Is Good To Be Children Sometimes, And Never Better Than At Christmas, When Its Mighty Founder Was A Child Himself.

It Is The Fate Of Most Men Who Mingle With The World, And Attain Even The Prime Of Life, To Make Many Real Friends, And Lose Them In The Course Of Nature. It Is The Fate Of All Authors Or Chroniclers To Create Imaginary Friends, And Lose Them In The Course Of Art. Nor Is This The Full Extent Of Their Misfortunes; For They Are Required To Furnish An Account Of Them Besides.

Whether I Shall Turn Out To Be The Hero Of My Own Life, Or Whether That Station Will Be Held By Anybody Else, These Pages Must Show. To Begin My Life With The Beginning Of My Life, I Record That I Was Born (as I Have Been Informed And Believe) On A Friday, At Twelve O’clock At Night. It Was Remarked That The Clock Began To Strike, And I Began To Cry, Simultaneously.

The Cloud Of Caring For Nothing, Which Overshadowed Him With Such A Fatal Darkness, Was Very Rarely Pierced By The Light Within Him.

In The Majority Of Cases, Conscience Is An Elastic And Very Flexible Article

Scattered Wits Take A Long Time In Picking Up.

It Was A Good Thing To Have A Couple Of Thousand People All Rigid And Frozen Together, In The Palm Of One's Hand.

All The Housemaid Hopes Is, Happiness For 'em - But Marriage Is A Lottery, And The More She Thinks About It, The More She Feels The Independence And The Safety Of A Single Life.

A Demd, Damp, Moist, Unpleasant Body!

Take Nothing On Its Looks; Take Everything On Evidence. There's No Better Rule.

Detestation Of The High Is The Involuntary Homage Of The Low.

He Appeared To Enjoy Beyond Everything The Sound Of His Own Voice. I Couldn't Wonder At That, For It Was Mellow And Full And Gave Great Importance To Every Word He Uttered. He Listened To Himself With Obvious Satisfaction And Sometimes Gently Beat Time To His Own Music With His Head Or Rounded A Sentence With His Hand.

We Part With Tender Relations Stretching Far Behind Us, That Never Can Be Exactly Renewed, And With Others Dawning - Yet Before Us.

Any Man May Be In Good Spirits And Good Temper When He's Well Dressed. There Ain't Much Credit In That.

People Like Us Don't Go Out At Night Cause People Like Them See Us For What We Are

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing, But A Little Patronage More So.

You Are Always Training Yourself To Be, Mind And Body, As Clear As Crystal, And You Always Are, And Never Change; Whereas I Am A Muddy, Solitary, Moping Weed.

It Was A Murky Confusion — Here And There Blotted With A Color Like The Color Of The Smoke From Damp Fuel — Of Flying Clouds Tossed Up Into Most Remarkable Heaps, Suggesting Greater Heights In The Clouds Than There Were Depths Below Them To The Bottom Of The Deepest Hollows In The Earth, Through Which The Wild Moon Seemed To Plunge Headlong, As If, In A Dread Disturbance Of The Laws Of Nature, She Had Lost Her Way And Were Frightened.

They Are So Filthy And Bestial That No Honest Man Would Admit One Into His House For A Water-closet Doormat.

You Should Keep Dogs-fine Animals-sagacious.

[i]t Seemed As If The Streets Were Absorbed By The Sky, And The Night Were All In The Air.

I Believe No Satirist Could Breathe This Air. If Another Juvenal Or Swift Could Rise Up Among Us Tomorrow, He Would Be Hunted Down. If You Have Any Knowledge Of Our Literature, And Can Give Me The Name Of Any Man, American Born And Bred, Who Has Anatomised Our Follies As A People, And Not As This Or That Party; And Who Has Escaped The Foulest And Most Brutal Slander, The Most Inveterate Hatred And Intolerant Pursuit; It Will Be A Strange Name In My Ears, Believe Me.

I Don't Suppose There's A Man Going, As Possesses The Fondness For Youth That I Do. There's Youth To The Amount Of Eight Hundredpound A-year, At Dotheboys Hall At This Present Time. I'd Take Sixteen Hundred Pound Worth, If I Could Get 'em, And Be As Fond Of Every Individual Twenty Pound Among 'em As Nothing Should Equal It!

My Advice Is To Never Do Tomorrow What You Can Do Today. Procrastination Is The Thief Of Time.

Procrastination

The Cramped Monotony Of My Existence Grinds Me Away By The Grain.

Morning Drew On Apace. The Air Became More Sharp And Piercing, As Its First Dull Hue: The Death Of Night, Rather Than The Birth Of Day: Glimmered Faintly In The Sky. The Objects Which Had Looked Dim And Terrible In The Darkness, Grew More And More Defined, And Gradually Resolved Into Their Familiar Shapes. The Rain Came Down, Thick And Fast; And Pattered, Noisily, Among The Leafless Bushes.

Trending Author

William Manchester

Mary Todd Lincoln

Seth MacFarlane

Category