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Out Upon Merry Christmas! What's Christmas Time To You But A Time For Paying Bills Without Money; A Time For Finding Yourself A Year Older, But Not An Hour Richer...? If I Could Work My Will," Said Scrooge Indignantly, "every Idiot Who Goes About With 'merry Christmas' Upon His Lips Should Be Boiled With His Won Pudding, And Buried With A Stake Of Holly Through His Heart. He Should!

-Charles Dickens

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Out Upon Merry Christmas!

Charles Dickens

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Out Upon Merry Christmas! What's Christmas Time To You But A Time For Paying Bills Without Money; A Time For Finding Yourself A Year Older, But Not An Hour Richer...? If I Could Work My Will," Said Scrooge Indignantly, "every Idiot Who Goes About With 'merry Christmas' Upon His Lips Should Be Boiled With His Won Pudding, And Buried With A Stake Of Holly Through His Heart. He Should!

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Life Is Made Of Ever So Many Partings Welded Together.

A Commission Of Haberdashers Could Alone Have Reported What The Rest Of Her Poor Dress Was Made Of, But It Had A Strong General Resemblance To Seaweed, With Here And There A Gigantic Tea-leaf. Her Shawl Looked Particularly Like A Tea-leaf After Long Infusion.

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.

"the Twins No Longer Derive Their Sustenance From Nature's Founts - In Short," Said Mr. Micawber, In One Of His Bursts Of Confidence, "they Are Weaned..."

It Was The First Time It Had Ever Occurred To Me, That This Detestable Cant Of False Humility Might Have Originated Out Of The Heep Family. I Had Seen The Harvest, But Had Never Thought Of The Seed.

Them Which Is Of Other Naturs Thinks Different.

When You Drink Of The Water, Don't Forget The Spring From Which It Flows.

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

A Very Little Key Will Open A Very Heavy Door.

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.

"my Comfort Is," Said Susan, Looking Back At Mr. Dombey, "that I Have Told A Piece Of Truth This Day Which Ought To Have Been Told Long Before And Can't Be Told Too Often Or Too Plain..."

I Wear The Chains I Forged In Life.

In This Way They Went On, And On, And On-in The Language Of The Story-books-until At Last The Village Lights Appeared Before Them, And The Church Spire Cast A Long Reflection On The Graveyard Grass; As If It Were A Dial (alas, The Truest In The World!) Marking, Whatever Light Shone Out Of Heaven, The Flight Of Days And Weeks And Years, By Some New Shadow On That Solemn Ground.

Surprises, Like Misfortunes, Seldom Come Alone.

Words Of Wisdom

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.

There Are Not A Few Among The Disciples Of Charity Who Require, In Their Vocation, Scarcely Less Excitement Than The Votaries Of Pleasure In Theirs.

He Has The Power To Render Us Happy Or Unhappy; To Make Our Service Light Or Burdensome; A Pleasure Or A Toil. Say That His Power Lies In Words And Looks; In Things So Slight And Insignificant That It Is Impossible To Add And Count 'em Up: What Then? The Happiness He Gives, Is Quite As Great As If It Cost A Fortune.

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.

In Particular, There Was A Butler In A Blue Coat And Bright Buttons, Who Gave Quite A Winey Flavour To The Table Beer; He Poured It Out So Superbly.

But Injustice Breeds Injustice; The Fighting With Shadows And Being Defeated By Them Necessitates The Setting Up Of Substances To Combat.

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After Tea, We Discussed A Variety Of Topics Before The Fire; And Mrs. Micawber Was Good Enough To Sing Us (in A Small, Thin, Flat Voice, Which I Remembered To Have Considered, When I First Knew Her, The Very Table-beer Of Acoustics) The Favourite Ballads Of "the Dashing White Sergeant", And "little Tafflin".

"madam," Replied Mr. Micawber, "it Is My Intention To Register Such A Vow On The Virgin Page Of The Future."

You Hear, Eugene?' Said Lightwood Over His Shoulder. 'you Are Deeply Interested In Lime.' 'without Lime,' Returned That Unmoved Barrister At Law, 'my Existence Would Be Unilluminated By A Ray Of Hope.

Philosophers Are Only Men In Armor After All.

"it Is A Sensation Not Experienced By Many Mortals," Said He, "to Be Looking Into A Churchyard On A Wild Windy Night, And To Feel That I No More Hold A Place Among The Living Than These Dead Do, And Even To Know That I Lie Buried Somewhere Else, As They Lie Buried Here. Nothing Uses Me To It. A Spirit That Was Once A Man Could Hardly Feel Stranger Or Lonelier, Going Unrecognized Among Mankind, Than I Feel."

... She Indulged In Melancholy - That Cheapest And Most Accessible Of Luxuries.

Good Never Come Of Such Evil, A Happier End Was Not In Nature To So Unhappy A Beginning.

Old Time, That Greatest And Longest Established Spinner Of All!... His Factory Is A Secret Place, His Work Is Noiseless, And His Hands Are Mutes.

Blackened Skeleton Arms Of Wood By The Wayside Pointed Upward To The Convent, As If The Ghosts Of Former Travellers, Overwhelmed By The Snow, Haunted The Scene Of Their Distress. Icicle-hung Caves And Cellars Built For Refuges From Sudden Storms, Were Like So Many Whispers Of The Perils Of The Place; Never-resting Wreaths And Mazes Of Mist Wandered About, Hunted By A Moaning Wind; And Snow, The Besetting Danger Of The Mountain, Against Which All Its Defences Were Taken, Drifted Sharply Down.

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

A Modest Ring At The Bell At Length Allayed Her Fears, And Miss Benton, Hurrying Into Her Own Room And Shutting Herself Up, In Order That She Might Preserve That Appearance Of Being Taken By Surprise Which Is So Essential To The Polite Reception Of Visitors, Awaited Their Coming With A Smiling Countenance.

Tongue; Well That's A Wery Good Thing When It An't A Woman.

All Is Going On As It Was Wont. The Waves Are Hoarse With Repetition Of Their Mystery; The Dust Lies Piled Upon The Shore; The Sea-birds Soar And Hover; The Winds And Clouds Go Forth Upon Their Trackless Flight; The White Arms Beckon, In The Moonlight, To The Invisible Country Far Away.

In Love Of Home, The Love Of Country Has Its Rise.

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.

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In The Little World In Which Children Have Their Existence, Whosoever Brings Them Up, There Is Nothing So Finely Perceived And So Finely Felt, As Injustice.

If I Could Not Walk Far And Fast, I Think I Should Just Explode And Perish.

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I Want To Escape From Myself. For When I Do Start Up And Stare Myself Seedily In The Face, As Happens To Be My Case At Present, My Blankness Is Inconceivable--indescribable--my Misery Amazing.

Not Knowing How He Lost Himself, Or How He Recovered Himself, He May Never Feel Certain Of Not Losing Himself Again.

Some Women's Faces Are, In Their Brightness, A Prophecy; And Some, In Their Sadness, A History.

For Who Can Wonder That Man Should Feel A Vague Belief In Tales Of Disembodied Spirits Wandering Through Those Places Which They Once Dearly Affected, When He Himself, Scarcely Less Separated From His Old World Than They, Is For Ever Lingering Upon Past Emotions And Bygone Times, And Hovering, The Ghost Of His Former Self, About The Places And People That Warmed His Heart Of Old?

The One Great Principle Of The English Law Is, To Make Business For Itself. There Is No Other Principle Distinctly, Certainly, And Consistently Maintained Through All Its Narrow Turnings.

"and When You Had Made Sure Of The Poor Little Fool," Said My Aunt - "god Forgive Me That I Should Call Her So, And She Gone Where You Won't Go In A Hurry - Because You Had Not Done Wrong Enough To Her And Hers, You Must Begin To Train Her, Must You? Begin To Break Her, Like A Poor Caged Bird, And Wear Her Deluded Life Away, In Teaching Her To Sing Your Notes?"

... I Have Read In Your Face, As Plain As If It Was A Book, That But For Some Trouble And Sorrow We Should Never Know Half The Good There Is About Us.

Mr. Tulkinghorn, Sitting In The Twilight By The Open Window, Enjoys His Wine. As If It Whispered To Him Of Its Fifty Years Of Silence And Seclusion, It Shuts Him Up The Closer. More Impenetrable Than Ever, He Sits, And Drinks, And Mellows As It Were In Secrecy, Pondering At That Twilight Hour On All The Mysteries He Knows.

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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.

"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."

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And When It Has Got In; As One Not Finding What It Seeks, Whatever That May Be, It Wails And Howls To Issue Forth Again: And Not Content With Stalking Through The Aisles, And Gliding Round And Round The Pillars, And Tempting The Deep Organ, Soars Up To The Roof, And Strives To Rend The Rafters: Then Flings Itself Despairingly Upon The Stones Below, And Passes, Muttering, Into The Vaults.

Credit Is A System Whereby A Person Who Can Not Pay Gets Another Person Who Can Not Pay To Guarantee That He Can Pay.

Guarantees That

Then Idiots Talk....of Energy. If There Is A Word In The Dictionary Under Any Letter From A To Z That I Abominate, It Is Energy. It Is Such A Conventional Superstition, Such Parrot Gabble! What The Deuce!....but Show Me A Good Opportunity, Show Me Something Really Worth Being Energetic About, And I'll Show You Energy.

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness, And Some People Do The Same By Their Religion.

Your Voice And Music Are The Same To Me.

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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.

The Great Grindstone, Earth, Had Turned When Mr. Lorry Looked Out Again, And The Sun Was Red On The Courtyard. But, The Lesser Grindstone Stood Alone There In The Calm Morning Air, With Red Upon It That The Sun Had Never Give, And Would Never Take Away.

She's The Sort Of Woman Now,' Said Mould, . . . 'one Would Almost Feel Disposed To Bury For Nothing: And Do It Neatly, Too!

I Have Made Up My Mind That I Must Have Money, Pa. I Feel That I Can't Beg It, Borrow It, Or Steal It; And So I Have Resolved That I Must Marry It.

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

I Don't Remember Who Was There, Except Dora. I Have Not The Least Idea What We Had For Dinner, Besides Dora. My Impression Is, That I Dined Off Dora, Entirely, And Sent Away Half-a-dozen Plates Untouched. I Sat Next To Her. I Talked To Her. She Had The Most Delightful Little Voice, The Gayest Little Laugh, The Pleasantest And Most Fascinating Little Ways, That Ever Led A Lost Youth Into Hopeless Slavery. She Was Rather Diminutive Altogether. So Much The More Precious, I Thought.

A Moment, And Its Glory Was No More. The Sun Went Down Beneath The Long Dark Lines Of Hill And Cloud Which Piled Up In The West An Airy City, Wall Heaped On Wall, And Battlement On Battlement; The Light Was All Withdrawn; The Shining Church Turned Cold And Dark; The Stream Forgot To Smile; The Birds Were Silent; And The Gloom Of Winter Dwelt On Everything.

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.

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"we Thought That, Perhaps," Said I, Hesitating, "it Is Right To Begin With The Obligations Of Home, Sir; And That, Perhaps, While Those Are Overlooked And Neglected, No Other Duties Can Possibly Be Substituted For Them."

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Think! I've Got Enough To Do, And Little Enough To Get For It, Without Thinking.

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!

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.

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

Drive Him Fast To His Tomb. This, From Jacques.

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"peggotty!" Repeated Miss Betsey, With Some Indignation. "do You Mean To Say, Child, That Any Human Being Has Gone Into A Christian Church, And Got Herself Named Peggotty?"

This Reminds Me, Godmother, To Ask You A Serious Question. You Are As Wise As Wise Can Be (having Been Brought Up By The Fairies), And You Can Tell Me This: Is It Better To Have Had A Good Thing And Lost It, Or Never To Have Had It?

Words Of Wisdom

Do Not Close Your Heart Against All My Efforts To Help You.

You Speak So Feelingly And So Manfully, Charles Darnay

All Of Us Have Wonders Hidden In Our Breasts, Only Needing Circumstances To Evoke Them.

The Wind's In The East. . . . I Am Always Conscious Of An Uncomfortable Sensation Now And Then When The Wind Is Blowing In The East.

Heaven Suits The Back To The Burden.

Take A Little Timecount Five-and-twenty,tattycoram.

Loves And Cupids Took To Flight Afraid, And Martyrdom Had No Such Torment In Its Painted History Of Suffering.

I Find My Breath Gets Short, But It Seldom Gets Longer As A Man Gets Older. I Take It As It Comes, And Make The Most Of It. That's The Best Way, Ain't It?

Words Of Wisdom

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.

There Is Probably A Smell Of Roasted Chestnuts And Other Good Comfortable Things All The Time, For We Are Telling Winter Stories - Ghost Stories, Or More Shame For Us - Round The Christmas Fire; And We Have Never Stirred, Except To Draw A Little Nearer To It.

I See A Beautiful City And A Brilliant People Rising From This Abyss, And, In Their Struggles To Be Truly Free, In Their Triumphs And Defeats, Through Long Years To Come, I See The Evil Of This Time And Of The Previous Time Of Which This Is The Natural Birth, Gradually Making Expiation For Itself And Wearing Out.

I Have Known A Vast Quantity Of Nonsense Talked About Bad Men Not Looking You In The Face. Don't Trust That Conventional Idea. Dishonesty Will Stare Honesty Out Of Countenance Any Day In The Week, If There Is Anything To Be Got By It.

Joe Gave Me Some More Gravy.

There Are Books Of Which The Backs And Covers Are By Far The Best Parts.

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

He Was Bolder In The Daylight-most Men Are.

Words Of Wisdom

The Shadows Of Our Own Desires Stand Between Us And Our Better Angels, And Thus Their Brightness Is Eclipsed.

Words Of Wisdom

Christmas A Humbug, Uncle!" Said Scrooge's Nephew. "you Don't Mean That, I Am Sure?" "i Do," Said Scrooge. "merry Christmas! What Right Have You To Be Merry? What Reason Have You To Be Merry? You're Poor Enough.

Merry Christmas

There Was A Frosty Rime Upon The Trees, Which, In The Faint Light Of The Clouded Moon, Hung Upon The Smaller Branches Like Dead Garlands. Withered Leaves Crackled And Snapped Beneath His Feet, As He Crept Softly On Towards The House. The Desolation Of A Winter Night Sat Brooding On The Earth, And In The Sky. But, The Red Light Came Cheerily Towards Him From The Windows; Figures Passed And Repassed There; And The Hum And Murmur Of Voices Greeted His Ear Sweetly.

"you Are A Boy," Said Mr. Dombey, Suddenly And Almost Fiercely; "and What You Think Of, Or Affect To Think Of, Is Of Little Consequence. You Have Done Well, Sir. Don't Undo It."

I Cannot Help It; Reason Has Nothing To Do With It; I Love Her Against Reason-but Who Would As Soon Love Me For My Own Sake, As She Would Love The Beggar At The Corner.

The Law Is An Ass, An Idiot.

Bleak, Dark, And Piercing Cold, It Was A Night For The Well-housed And Fed To Draw Round The Bright Fire, And Thank God They Were At Home; And For The Homeless Starving Wretch To Lay Him Down And Die. Many Hunger-worn Outcasts Close Their Eyes In Our Bare Streets At Such Times, Who, Let Their Crimes Have Been What They May, Can Hardly Open Them In A More Bitter World.

In A Word, I Was Too Cowardly To Do What I Knew To Be Right, As I Had Been Too Cowardly To Avoid Doing What I Knew To Be Wrong.

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.

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

Heaven Above Was Blue, And Earth Beneath Was Green; The River Glistened Like A Path Of Diamonds In The Sun; The Birds Poured Forth Their Songs From The Shady Trees; The Lark Soared High Above The Waving Corn; And The Deep Buzz Of Insects Filled The Air.

Sadly, Sadly, The Sun Rose; It Rose Upon No Sadder Sight Than The Man Of Good Abilities And Good Emotions, Incapable Of Their Directed Exercise, Incapable Of His Own Help And His Own Happiness, Sensible Of The Blight On Him, And Resigning Himself To Let It Eat Him Away.

But The Words She Spoke Of Mrs Harris, Lambs Could Not Forgive ... Nor Worms Forget.

I Don't Feel Any Vulgar Gratitude To You[for Helping Me]. I Almost Feel As If You Ought To Be Grateful To Me, For Giving You The Opportunity Of Enjoying The Luxury Of Generosity. . . I May Have Come Into The World Expressly For The Purpose Of Increasing Your Stock Of Happiness. I May Have Been Born To Be A Benefactor To You, By Giving You An Opportunity Of Assisting Me.

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

Don't You Think That Any Secret Course Is An Unworthy One?

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One Thing About This Face Was Very Strange And Startling. You Could Not Look Upon It In Its Most Cheerful Mood Without Feeling That It Had Some Extraordinary Capacity Of Expressing Terror. It Was Not On The Surface. It Was In No One Feature That It Lingered. You Could Not Take The Eyes Or Mouth, Or Lines Upon The Cheek, And Say, If This Or That Were Otherwise, It Would Not Be So. Yet There It Always Lurked-something For Ever Dimly Seen, But Ever There, And Never Absent For A Moment.

The Ocean Asks For Nothing But Those Who Stand By Her Shores Gradually Attune Themselves To Her Rhythm.

There Is Something In Sickness That Breaks Down The Pride Of Manhood.

There Might Be Some Credit In Being Jolly.

The Talker Has Found A Hearer But Not A Listener; And Though He May Talk His Very Best For His Own Sake, You Will Find That His Mental Movements Are Erratic: They Have No Fixed Centre And No Definite Object. His Talk Is Like The Water Of A Canal Whose Banks Have Given Way, Which Rolls Aimlessly Hither And Thither, Without Fulfilling Any Useful Function, Though It Is The Same Water Which Was So Helpful And Serviceable, When It Was Confined Within Clearly Marked Limits By The Restraining Force Of Its Earthy Boundaries.

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times.

The Appearance Presented By The Streets Of London An Hour Before Sunrise, On A Summer's Morning, Is Most Striking Even To The Few Whose Unfortunate Pursuits Of Pleasure, Or Scarcely Less Unfortunate Pursuits Of Business, Cause Them To Be Well Acquainted With The Scene. There Is An Air Of Cold, Solitary Desolation About The Noiseless Streets Which We Are Accustomed To See Thronged At Other Times By A Busy, Eager Crowd, And Over The Quiet, Closely-shut Buildings, Which Throughout The Day Are Swarming With Life And Bustle, That Is Very Impressive.

Virtue Shows Quite As Well In Rags And Patches As She Does In Purple And Fine Linen.

Vices Are Sometimes Only Virtues Carried To Excess!

... 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.

I Must Do Something Or I Shall Wear My Heart Away.

If I Dropped A Tear Upon Your Hand, May It Wither It Up! If I Spoke A Gentle Word In Your Hearing, May It Deafen You! If I Touched You With My Lips, May The Touch Be Poison To You! A Curse Upon This Roof That Gave Me Shelter! Sorrow And Shame Upon Your Head! Ruin Upon All Belonging To You!

Surely There Had Been No Figure Leaning On The Back Of His Chair; No Face Looking Over It. It Is Certain That No Gliding Footstep Touched The Floor, As He Lifted Up His Head, With A Start, And Spoke. And Yet There Was No Mirror In The Room On Whose Surface His Own Form Could Have Cast Its Shadow For A Moment; And, Something Had Passed Darkly And Gone!

I Have Tried To Resign Myself, And To Console Myself; And That, I Hope, I May Have Done Imperfectly; But What I Cannot Firmly Settle In My Mind Is, That The End Will Absolutely Come. I Hold Her Hand In Mine, I Hold Her Heart In Mine, I See Her Love For Me, Alive In All Its Strength. I Cannot Shut Out A Pale Lingering Shadow Of Belief That She Will Be Spared.

Fog Everywhere. Fog Up The River Where It Flows Among Green Airs And Meadows; Fog Down The River, Where It Rolls Defiled Among The Tiers Of Shipping, And The Waterside Pollutions Of A Great (and Dirty) City.... Chance People On The Bridges Peeping Over The Parapets Into A Nether Sky Of Fog, With Fog All Round Them, As If They Were Up In A Balloon And Hanging In The Misty Clouds.

Quadruped Lions Are Said To Be Savage, Only When They Are Hungry; Biped Lions Are Rarely Sulky Longer Than When Their Appetite For Distinction Remains Unappeased.

Words Of Wisdom

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

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

A Man Is Lucky If He Is The First Love Of A Woman. A Woman Is Lucky If She Is The Last Love Of A Man.

My Dear If You Could Give Me A Cup Of Tea To Clear My Muddle Of A Head I Should Better Understand Your Affairs.

Of All The Ruinous And Desolate Places My Uncle Had Ever Beheld, This Was The Most So. It Looked As If It Had Once Been A Large House Of Entertainment; But The Roof Had Fallen In, In Many Places, And The Stairs Were Steep, Rugged, And Broken. There Was A Huge Fire-place In The Room Into Which They Walked, And The Chimney Was Blackened With Smoke; But No Warm Blaze Lighted It Up Now. The White Feathery Dust Of Burnt Wood Was Still Strewed Over The Hearth, But The Stove Was Cold, And All Was Dark And Gloomy.

Change Begets Change. Nothing Propagates So Fast.

Words Of Wisdom

I Hope That Real Love And Truth Are Stronger In The End Than Any Evil Or Misfortune In The World.

To See The Butcher Slap The Steak Before He Laid It On The Block, And Give His Knife A Sharpening, Was To Forget Breakfast Instantly. It Was Agreeable Too - It Really Was - To See Him Cut It Off So Smooth And Juicy. There Was Nothing Savage In The Act, Although The Knife Was Large And Keen; It Was A Piece Of Art, High Art; There Was Delicacy Of Touch, Clearness Of Tone, Skilful Handling Of The Subject, Fine Shading. It Was The Triumph Of Mind Over Matter; Quite.

It's My Old Girl That Advises. She Has The Head. But I Never Own To It Before Her. Discipline Must Be Maintained.

Mrs. Lammle's Manner Changed Under The Poor Silly Girl's Embraces, And She Turned Extremely Pale: Directing One Appealing Look, First To Mrs. Boffin, And Then To Mr. Boffin. Both Understood Her Instantly, With A More Delicate Subtlety Than Much Better Educated People, Whose Perception Came Less Directly From The Heart, Could Have Brought To Bear Upon The Case.

Make Them Laugh, Make Them Cry, Make Them Wait.

... When The Locked Door Opens, And There Comes In A Young Woman, Deadly Pale, And With Long Fair Hair, Who Glides To The Fire, And Sits Down In The Chair We Have Left There, Wringing Her Hands.

The New Year, Like An Infant Heir To The Whole World, Was Waited For, With Welcomes, Presents, And Rejoicings.

Sudden Shifts And Changes Are No Bad Preparation For Political Life.

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

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

Veels Vithin Veels, A Prison In A Prison.

... As Lonesome As A Kitten In A Wash-house Copper With The Lid On.

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.

Ride On! Ride On Over All Obstacles And Win The Race.

It Is A Long Time,' Repeated His Wife; 'and When Is It Not A Long Time? Vengeance And Retribution Require A Long Time; It Is The Rule.' 'it Does Not Take A Long Time To Strike A Man With Lightning,' Said Defarge. 'how Long,' Demanded Madame, Composedly, 'does It Take To Make And Store The Lightning? Tell Me?

Out Upon Merry Christmas! What's Christmas Time To You But A Time For Paying Bills Without Money; A Time For Finding Yourself A Year Older, But Not An Hour Richer...? If I Could Work My Will," Said Scrooge Indignantly, "every Idiot Who Goes About With 'merry Christmas' Upon His Lips Should Be Boiled With His Won Pudding, And Buried With A Stake Of Holly Through His Heart. He Should!

Can I View Thee Panting, Lying On Thy Stomach, Without Sighing; Can I Unmoved See Thee Dying On A Log Expiring Frog!

We Must Scrunch Or Be Scrunched.

There Is Something Indefinably Keen And Wan About Her Anatomy, And She Has A Watchful Way Of Looking Out Of The Corners Of Her Eyes Without Turning Her Head Which Could Be Pleasantly Dispensed With, Especially When She Is In An Ill Humour And Near Knives. Through All The Good Taste Of Her Dress And Little Adornments, These Objections So Express Themselves That She Seems To Go About Like A Very Neat She-wolf Imperfectly Tamed.

He Was Consious Of A Thousand Odours Floating In The Air, Each One Connected With A Thousand Thoughts, And Hopes, And Joys, And Cares, Long, Long, Forgotten.

He Would Make A Lovely Corpse.

A New Heart For A New Year, Always!

We Never Tire Of The Friendships We Form With Books.

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.

... 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.

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

We Are So Very 'umble.

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.

He Went To Church, And Walked About The Streets, And Watched The People Hurrying To And Fro, And Patted Children On The Head, And Questioned Beggars, And Looked Down Into The Kitchens Of Houses, And Up To The Windows; And Found That Everything Could Yield Him Pleasure. He Had Never Dreamed That Any Walk — That Anything — Could Give Him So Much Happiness.

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.

He Did Each Single Thing As If He Did Nothing Else.

Interesting Characters

Have You Ever Had The Sensation Of Looking At Someone For The First Time And Ever So Quickly The Past And Future Seem To Fuse ? Does That Not Mean Something ? That We Felt So Much, So Deeply, Before Even Speaking?

Now I Am In The Garden At The Back . . . A Very Preserve Of Butterflies As I Remember It, With A High Fence, And A Gate . . . Where The Fruit Clusters On The Trees, Riper And Richer Than Fruit Has Ever Been Since, In Any Other Garden, And Where My Mother Gathers Some In A Basket While I Stand By, Bolting Furtive Gooseberries, And Trying To Look Unnerved.

And A Beautiful World We Live In, When It Is Possible, And When Many Other Such Things Are Possible, And Not Only Possible, But Done-- Done, See You!-- Under That Sky There, Every Day.

Miss Mills Replied, On General Principles, That The Cottage Of Content Was Better Than The Palace Of Cold Splendour, And That Where Love Was, All Was.

On Summer Evenings, When Every Flower, And Tree, And Bird, Might Have Better Addressed My Soft Young Heart, I Have In My Day Been Caught In The Palm Of A Female Hand By The Crown, Have Been Violently Scrubbed From The Neck To The Roots Of The Hair As A Purification For The Temple, And Have Then Been Carried Off Highly Charged With Saponaceous Electricity, To Be Steamed Like A Potato In The Unventilated Breath Of The Powerful Boanerges Boiler And His Congregation, Until What Small Mind I Had, Was Quite Steamed Out Of Me

You Have No Idea What It Is To Have Anybody Wonderful Fond Of You, Unless You Have Been Got Down And Rolled Upon By The Lonely Feelings That I Have Mentioned As Having Once Got The Better Of Me.

It Is Because I Think So Much Of Warm And Sensitive Hearts, That I Would Spare Them From Being Wounded.

The Civility Which Money Will Purchase, Is Rarely Extended To Those Who Have None.

The More Especially, As In My Juvenile Frankness, I Took Some Credit To Myself For Being So Confidential And Felt That I Was Quite The Patron Of My Two Respectful Entertainers.

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

Christmas Is A Time In Which, Of All Times In The Year, The Memory Of Every Remediable Sorrow, Wrong, And Trouble In The World Around Us, Should Be Active With Us, Not Less Than Our Own Experiences, For All Good.

There Is Something Good In All Weathers. If It Doesn't Happen To Be Good For My Work Today, It's Good For Some Other Man's Today... And Will Come Around For Me Tomorrow.

Yes. He Is Quite A Good Fellow - Nobody's Enemy But His Own.

Interesting Characters

The Men Who Learn Endurance, Are They Who Call The Whole World, Brother.

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

Most Men Unconsciously Judge The World From Themselves, And It Will Be Very Generally Found That Those Who Sneer Habitually At Human Nature, And Affect To Despise It, Are Among Its Worst And Least Pleasant Samples.

I Know Enough Of The World Now To Have Almost Lost The Capacity Of Being Much Surprised By Anything

The Streets Looked Small, Of Course. The Streets That We Have Only Seen As Children Always Do I Believe When We Go Back To Them

A Man Can Well Afford To Be As Bold As Brass, My Good Fellow, When He Gets Gold In Exchange!

I Loved You Madly; In The Distasteful Work Of The Day, In The Wakeful Misery Of The Night, Girded By Sordid Realities, Or Wandering Through Paradises And Hells Of Visions Into Which I Rushed, Carrying Your Image In My Arms, I Loved You Madly.

The Blossom Is Blighted, The Leaf Is Withered, The God Of Day Goes Down Upon The Dreary Scene, And In Short You Are For Ever Floored.

How Could You Give Me Life, And Take From Me All The Inappreciable Things That Raise It From The State Of Conscious Death? Where Are The Graces Of My Soul? Where Are The Sentiments Of My Heart? What Have You Done, Oh, Father, What Have You Done With The Garden That Should Have Bloomed Once, In This Great Wilderness Here? Said Louisa As She Touched Her Heart.

Her Heart-is Given Him, With All Its Love And Truth. She Would Joyfully Die With Him, Or, Better Than That, Die For Him. She Knows He Has Failings, But She Thinks They Have Grown Up Through His Being Like One Cast Away, For The Want Of Something To Trust In, And Care For, And Think Well Of.

The Boy Was Lying, Fast Asleep, On A Rude Bed Upon The Floor; So Pale With Anxiety, And Sadness, And The Closeness Of His Prison, That He Looked Like Death; Not Death As It Shews In Shroud And Coffin, But In The Guise It Wears When Life Has Just Departed; When A Young And Gentle Spirit Has, But An Instant, Fled To Heaven: And The Gross Air Of The World Has Not Had Time To Breathe Upon The Changing Dust It Hallowed.

Christmas Is A Poor Excuse Every 25th Of December To Pick A Man's Pockets.

The Night Crept On Apace, The Moon Went Down, The Stars Grew Pale And Dim, And Morning, Cold As They, Slowly Approached. Then, From Behind A Distant Hill, The Noble Sun Rose Up, Driving The Mists In Phantom Shapes Before It, And Clearing The Earth Of Their Ghostly Forms Till Darkness Came Again.

Procrastination Is The Thief Of Time, Collar Him.

Procrastination

He Had A Certain Air Of Being A Handsome Man-which He Was Not; And A Certain Air Of Being A Well-bred Man-which He Was Not. It Was Mere Swagger And Challenge; But In This Particular, As In Many Others, Blustering Assertion Goes For Proof, Half Over The World.

It Is One Of Those Problems Of Human Nature, Which May Be Noted Down, But Not Solved; - Although Ralph Felt No Remorse At That Moment For His Conduct Towards The Innocent, True-hearted Girl; Although His Libertine Clients Had Done Precisely What He Had Expected, Precisely What He Most Wished, And Precisely What Would Tend Most To His Advantage, Still He Hated Them For Doing It, From The Very Bottom Of His Soul.

An Observer Of Men Who Finds Himself Steadily Repelled By Some Apparently Trifling Thing In A Stranger Is Right To Give It Great Weight. It May Be The Clue To The Whole Mystery. A Hair Or Two Will Show Where A Lion Is Hidden. A Very Little Key Will Open A Very Heavy Door.

How Many Young Men, In All Previous Times Of Unprecedented Steadiness, Had Turned Suddenly Wild And Wicked For The Same Reason, And, In An Ecstasy Of Unrequited Love, Taken To Wrench Off Door-knockers, And Invert The Boxes Of Rheumatic Watchmen!

Unrequited Love

Poetry's Unnat'ral; No Man Ever Talked Poetry 'cept A Beadle On Boxin' Day.

The Evening Wind Made Such A Disturbance Just Now, Among Some Tall Old Elm-trees At The Bottom Of The Garden, That Neither My Mother Nor Miss Betsey Could Forbear Glancing That Way. As The Elms Bent To One Another, Like Giants Who Were Whispering Secrets, And After A Few Seconds Of Such Repose, Fell Into A Violent Flurry, Tossing Their Wild Arms About, As If Their Late Confidences Were Really Too Wicked For Their Peace Of Mind.

I Think It Impossible, Utterly Impossible, For Any Englishman To Live Here [in America], And Be Happy.

Some Of The Craftiest Scoundrels That Ever Walked This Earth . . . Will Gravely Jot Down In Diaries The Events Of Every Day, And Keep A Regular Debtor And Creditor Account With Heaven, Which Shall Always Show A Floating Balance In Their Own Favour.

Words Of Wisdom

Train Up A Fig Tree In The Way It Should Go, And When You Are Old Sit Under The Shade Of It.

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.

There Is Prodigious Strength In Sorrow And Despair.

"walter," She Said, Looking Full Upon Him With Her Affectionate Eyes, "like You, I Hope For Better Things. I Will Pray For Them, And Believe That They Will Arrive."

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Pope John Paul II

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