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Some Medical Beast Had Revived Tar-water In Those Days As A Fine Medicine, And Mrs. Joe Always Kept A Supply Of It In The Cupboard; Having A Belief In Its Virtues Correspondent To Its Nastiness. At The Best Of Times, So Much Of This Elixir Was Administered To Me As A Choice Restorative, That I Was Conscious Of Going About, Smelling Like A New Fence.

-Charles Dickens

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Some Medical Beast Had

Charles Dickens

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Some Medical Beast Had Revived Tar-water In Those Days As A Fine Medicine, And Mrs. Joe Always Kept A Supply Of It In The Cupboard; Having A Belief In Its Virtues Correspondent To Its Nastiness. At The Best Of Times, So Much Of This Elixir Was Administered To Me As A Choice Restorative, That I Was Conscious Of Going About, Smelling Like A New Fence.

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

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The Worst Class Of Sum Worked In The Every-day World Is Cyphered By The Diseased Arithmeticians Who Are Always In The Rule Of Subtraction As To The Merits And Successes Of Others, And Never In Addition As To Their Own.

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One Disagreeable Result Of Whispering Is That It Seems To Evoke An Atmosphere Of Silence, Haunted By The Ghosts Of Sound - Strange Cracks And Tickings, The Rustling Of Garments That Have No Substance In Them, And The Tread Of Dreadful Feet That Would Leave No Mark On The Sea-sand Or The Winter Snow.

Poetry's Unnat'ral; No Man Ever Talked Poetry 'cept A Beadle On Boxin' Day, Or Warren's Blackin' Or Rowland's Oil, Or Some O' Them Low Fellows; Never You Let Yourself Down To Talk Poetry, My Boy.

I Verily Believe That Her Not Remembering And Not Minding In The Least, Made Me Cry Again, Inwardly - And That Is The Sharpest Crying Of All.

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

"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?"

Stephen Blackpool Fall Into The Loneliest Of Lives, The Life Of Solitude Among A Familiar Crowd. The Stranger In The Land Who Looks Into Ten Thousand Faces For Some Answering Look And Never Finds It, Is In Cheering Society As Compared With Him Who Passes Ten Averted Faces Daily, That Were Once The Countenances Of Friends

"you See," Said Mr. Toots, "what I Wanted In A Wife Was - In Short, Was Sense. Money, Feeder, I Had. Sense I - I Had Not, Particularly."

At The Great Iron Gate Of The Churchyard He Stopped And Looked In. He Looked Up At The High Tower Spectrally Resisting The Wind, And He Looked Round At The White Tombstones, Like Enough To The Dead In Their Winding-sheets, And He Counted The Nine Tolls Of The Clock-bell.

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.

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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?

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The Bearings Of This Observation Lays In The Application Of It.

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I Must Be Taken As I Have Been Made. The Success Is Not Mine, The Failure Is Not Mine, But The Two Together Make Me.

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!

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There Are Chords In The Human Heart- Strange, Varying Strings- Which Are Only Struck By Accident; Which Will Remain Mute And Senseless To Appeals The Most Passionate And Earnest, And Respond At Last To The Slightest Casual Touch.

Such Is Hope, Heaven's Own Gift To Struggling Mortals, Pervading, Like Some Subtle Essence From The Skies, All Things Both Good And Bad.

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.

The Wine-shops Breed, In Physical Atmosphere Of Malaria And A Moral Pestilence Of Envy And Vengeance, The Men Of Crime And Revolution.

Be Natural My Children. For The Writer That Is Natural Has Fulfilled All The Rules Of Art.

The Town Was Glad With Morning Light; Places That Had Shown Ugly And Distrustful All Night Long, Now Wore A Smile; And Sparkling Sunbeams Dancing On Chamber Windows, And Twinkling Through Blind And Curtain Before Sleepers’ Eyes, Shed Light Even Into Dreams, And Chased Away The Shadows Of The Night.

I Can Never Close My Lips Where I Have Opened My Heart

Some Medical Beast Had Revived Tar-water In Those Days As A Fine Medicine, And Mrs. Joe Always Kept A Supply Of It In The Cupboard; Having A Belief In Its Virtues Correspondent To Its Nastiness. At The Best Of Times, So Much Of This Elixir Was Administered To Me As A Choice Restorative, That I Was Conscious Of Going About, Smelling Like A New Fence.

We Must Meet Reverses Boldly, And Not Suffer Them To Frighten Us, My Dear. We Must Learn To Act The Play Out. We Must Live Misfortune Down, Trot!

You Are Hard At Work Madam ," Said The Man Near Her. Yes," Answered Madam Defarge ; " I Have A Good Deal To Do." What Do You Make, Madam ?" Many Things." For Instance ---" For Instance," Returned Madam Defarge , Composedly , Shrouds." The Man Moved A Little Further Away, As Soon As He Could, Feeling It Mightily Close And Oppressive .

There Are Hopes, The Bloom Of Whose Beauty Would Be Spoiled By The Trammels Of Description; Too Lovely, Too Delicate, Too Sacred For Words, They Should Only Be Known Through The Sympathy Of Hearts.

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

Your Honour, Unless Your Honour, Without A Moment's Loss Of Time, Makes Sail For The Nearest Shore, This Is A Doomed Ship, And Her Name Is The Coffin!

But You Were Always A Good Man Of Business, Jacob,' Faltered Scrooge, Who Now Began To Apply This To Himself. Business!' Cried The Ghost, Wringing Its Hands Again. "mankind Was My Business; Charity, Mercy, Forbearance, And Benevolence, Were, All, My Business. The Deals Of My Trade Were But A Drop Of Water In The Comprehensive Ocean Of My Business!

Nothing That We Do, Is Done In Vain. I Believe, With All My Soul, That We Shall See Triumph.

Poetry Makes Life What Lights And Music Do The Stage.

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!

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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.

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Words Of Wisdom

Money, Says The Proverb, Makes Money. When You Have Got A Little, It Is Often Easy To Get More.

Home Is Like The Ship At Sea, Sailing On Eternally; Oft The Anchor Forth We Cast, But Can Never Make It Fast.

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

The Plain Rule Is To Do Nothing In The Dark, To Be A Party To Nothing Underhanded Or Mysterious, And Never To Put His Foot Where He Cannot See The Ground.

We Owed So Much To Herbert's Ever Cheerful Industry And Readiness, That I Often Wondered How I Had Conceived That Old Idea Of His Inaptitude, Until I Was One Day Enlightened By The Reflection, That Perhaps The Inaptitude Had Never Been In Him At All, But Had Been In Me.

Words Of Wisdom

I Have Heard It Said That As We Keep Our Birthdays When We Are Alive, So The Ghosts Of Dead People, Who Are Not Easy In Their Graves, Keep The Day They Died Upon.

For Not An Orphan In The Wide World Can Be So Deserted As The Child Who Is An Outcast From A Living Parent's Love.

Scattered Wits Take A Long Time In Picking Up.

I Never Thought Before, That There Was A Woman In The World Who Could Affect Me So Much By Saying So Little. But Don't Be Hard In Your Construction Of Me. You Don't Know What My State Of Mind Towards You Is. You Don't Know How You Haunt And Bewilder Me. You Don't Know How The Cursed Carelessness That Is Over-officious In Helping Me At Every Other Turning Of My Life Won't Help Me Here. You Have Struck It Dead, I Think, And I Sometimes Wish You Had Struck Me Dead Along With It.

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.

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

A Wonderful Fact To Reflect Upon, That Every Human Creature Is Constituted To Be That Profound Secret And Mystery To Every Other.

Reflecting Upon

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.

Lawyers Are Shy Of Meddling With The Law On Their Own Account: Knowing It To Be An Edged Tool Of Uncertain Application, Very Expensive In The Working, And Rather Remarkable For Its Properties Of Close Shaving Than For Its Always Shaving The Right Person.

There Are Very Few Moments In A Man's Existence When He Experiences So Much Ludicrous Distress, Or Meets With So Little Charitable Commiseration, As When He Is In Pursuit Of His Own Hat.

The New Testament Is The Very Best Book That Ever Was Or Ever Will Be Known In The World.

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.

You Speak So Feelingly And So Manfully, Charles Darnay

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.

By The By, Who Ever Knew A Man Who Never Read Or Wrote Neither Who Hadn't Got Some Small Back Parlour Which He Would Call A Study!

A Most Excellent Man, Though I Could Have Wished His Trousers Not Quite So Tight In Some Places And Not Quite So Loose In Others.

There Can't Be A Quarrel Without Two Parties, And I Won't Be One. I Will Be A Friend To You In Spite Of You. So Now You Know What You've Got To Expect

I Was A Blacksmith's Boy But Yesterday; I Am - What Shall I Say I Am Today?

... Herbert Said Of Himself, With His Eyes Fixed On The Fire, That He Thought He Must Have Committed A Felony And Forgotten The Details Of It, He Felt So Dejected And Guilty.

And Numerous Indeed Are The Hearts To Which Christmas Brings A Brief Season Of Happiness And Enjoyment.

I Wish You To Know That You Have Been The Last Dream Of My Soul...since I Knew You, I Have Been Troubled By A Remorse That I Thought Would Never Reproach Me Again, And Have Heard Whispers From Old Voices Impelling Me Upward, That I Thought Were Silent For Ever. I Have Had Unformed Ideas Of Striving Afresh, Beginning Anew, Shaking Off Sloth And Sensuality, And Fighting Out The Abandoned Fight. A Dream, All A Dream, That Ends In Nothing, And Leaves The Sleeper Where He Lay Down, But I Wish You To Know That You Inspired It.

Don't Be Afraid! We Won't Make An Author Of You, While There's An Honest Trade To Be Learnt, Or Brick-making To Turn To.

He Thought Of The Number Of Girls And Women She Had Seen Marry, How Many Homes With Children In Them She Had Seen Grow Up Around Her, How She Had Contentedly Pursued Her Own Lone Quite Path-for Him. ~ Stephen Speaking Of Rachael

Once A Gentleman, And Always A Gentleman.

Words Of Wisdom

Every Baby Born Into The World Is A Finer One Than The Last.

She Better Liked To See Him Free And Happy, Even Than To Have Him Near Her, Because She Loved Him Better Than Herself.

Novelties Please Less Than They Impress.

And Still I Stood Looking At The House, Thinking How Happy I Should Be If I Lived There With Her, And Knowing That I Never Was Happy With Her, But Always Miserable.

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.

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!

It Is A Pleasant Thing To Reflect Upon, And Furnishes A Complete Answer To Those Who Contend For The Gradual Degeneration Of The Human Species, That Every Baby Born Into The World Is A Finer One Than The Last.

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 O There Are Days In This Life, Worth Life And Worth Death.

There Is Nothing--no, Nothing--innocent Or Good, That Dies And Is Forgotten; Let Us Hold To That Faith Or None. An Infant, A Prattling Child, Dying In The Cradle, Will Live Again In The Better Thoughts Of Those That Loved It, And Play Its Part Through Them In The Redeeming Actions Of The World, Though Its Body Be Burnt To Ashes Or Drowned In The Deep Sea.

You Are In Every Line I Have Ever Read.

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!

Cows Are My Passion. What I Have Ever Sighed For Has Been To Retreat To A Swiss Farm, And Live Entirely Surrounded By Cows - And China.

You Can Only Form The Minds Of Reasoning Animals Upon Facts: Nothing Else Will Ever Be Of Any Service To Them. Stick To Facts, Sir!

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

To Have A Cricket On The Hearth Is The Luckiest Thing In All The World!

... 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 Sun Himself Is Weak When He First Rises, And Gathers Strength And Courage As The Day Gets On.

When I Have Heard Him Talking To Papa During The Sittings For The Picture, I Have Sat Wondering Whether It Could Be That He Has No Belief In Anybody Else, Because He Has No Belief In Himself.

Words Of Wisdom

It Was A Cold Hard Easterly Morning When He Latched The Garden Gate And Turned Away. The Light Snowfall Which Had Feathered His Schoolroom Windows On The Thursday, Still Lingered In The Air, And Was Falling White, While The Wind Blew Black.

Let Me Feel Now What Sharp Distress I May.

Great Expectations

The Rain And Hail Pattered Against The Glass; The Chimneys Quaked And Rocked; The Crazy Casement Rattled With The Wind, As Though An Impatient Hand Inside Were Striving To Burst It Open. But No Hand Was There, And It Opened No More.

"we Will Wait," Answered Little Alice, Taking Nettie's Hand In Hers, And Looking Up To The Sky, "we Will Wait - Ever Constant And True - Till The Times Have Got So Changed As That Everything Helps Us Out, And Nothing Makes Us Ridiculous, And The Fairies Have Come Back. We Will Wait - Ever Constant And True - Till We Are Eighty, Ninety, Or One Hundred. And Then The Fairies Will Send Us Children, And We Will Help Them Out, Poor Pretty Little Creatures, If They Pretend Ever So Much."

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 . . .

An Idea, Like A Ghost, Must Be Spoken To A Little Before It Will Explain Itself.

Indeed The Worthy Housewife Was Of Such A Capricious Nature, That She Not Only Attained A Higher Pitch Of Genius Than Macbeth, In Respect Of Her Ability To Be Wise, Amazed, Temperate And Furious, Loyal And Neutral In An Instant, But Would Sometimes Ring The Changes Backwards And Forwards On All Possible Moods And Flights In One Short Quarter Of An Hour; Performing, As It Were, A Kind Of Triple Bob Major On The Peal Of Instruments In The Female Belfry, With A Skilfulness And Rapidity Of Execution That Astonished All Who Heard Her.

So, Mr. Chadband-of Whom The Persecutors Say That It Is No Wonder He Should Go On For Any Length Of Time Uttering Such Abominable Nonsense, But That The Wonder Rather Is That He Should Ever Leave Off, Having Once The Audacity To Begin-retires Into Private Life Until He Invests A Little Capital Of Supper In The Oil-trade.

It Is A Melancholy Truth That Even Great Men Have Their Poor Relations.

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.

Friendless I Can Never Be, For All Mankind Are My Kindred, And I Am On Ill Terms With No One Member Of My Great Family.

He Was Bolder In The Daylight-most Men Are.

Words Of Wisdom

They Whirled Past The Dark Trees, As Feathers Would Be Swept Before A Hurricane. Houses, Gates, Churches, Hay-stacks, Objects Of Every Kind They Shot By, With A Velocity And Noise Like Roaring Waters Suddenly Let Loose. Still The Noise Of Pursuit Grew Louder, And Still My Uncle Could Hear The Young Lady Wildly Screaming, "faster! Faster!"

Try To Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do To You, And Do Not Be Discouraged If They Fail Sometimes. It Is Much Better That They Should Fail Than You Should.

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 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.

I Don't Quite Recollect How Many Tumblers Of Whiskey Toddy Each Man Drank After Supper; But This I Know, That About One O'clock In The Morning, The Baillie's Grown-up Son Became Insensible While Attempting The First Verse Of 'willie Brewed A Peck O' Maut'; And He Having Been, For Half An Hour Before, The Only Other Man Visible Above The Mahogany, It Occurred To My Uncle That It Was Almost Time To Think About Going.

Not Only Is The Day Waning, But The Year. The Low Sun Is Fiery And Yet Cold Behind The Monastery Ruin, And The Virginia Creeper On The Cathedral Wall Has Showered Half Its Deep-red Leaves Down On The Pavement. There Has Been Rain This Afternoon, And A Wintry Shudder Goes Among The Little Pools On The Cracked, Uneven Flag-stones, And Through The Giant Elm-trees As They Shed A Gust Of Tears.

'tis Love That Makes The World Go Round, My Baby.

They Enter, Locking Themselves In, Descend The Rugged Steps, And Are Down In The Crypt. The Lantern Is Not Wanted, For The Moonlight Strikes In At The Groined Windows, Bare Of Glass, The Broken Frames For Which Cast Patterns On The Ground. The Heavy Pillars Which Support The Roof Engender Masses Of Black Shade, But Between Them There Are Lanes Of Light.

There Was No Wind; There Was No Passing Shadow On The Deep Shade Of The Night; There Was No Noise. The City Lay Behind Him, Lighted Here And There, And Starry Worlds Were Hidden By The Masonry Of Spire And Roof That Hardly Made Out Any Shapes Against The Sky. Dark And Lonely Distance Lay Around Him Everywhere, And The Clocks Were Faintly Striking Two.

He Had A Cringing Manner, But A Very Harsh Voice; And His Blandest Smiles Were So Extremely Forbidding, That To Have Had His Company Under The Least Repulsive Circumstances, One Would Have Wished Him To Be Out Of Temper That He Might Only Scowl.

We Forge The Chains We Wear In Life.

Law Of Attraction

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.

... 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.

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.

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

Never Sign A Valentine With Your Own Name.

There Was A Little Plate Of Hothouse Nectarines On The Table, And There Was Another Of Grapes, And Another Of Sponge-cakes, And There Was A Bottle Of Light Wine ... 'this Is My Frugal Breakfast ... Give Me My Peach, My Cup Of Coffee, And My Claret.'

"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."

You Can't Make A Head And Brains Out Of A Brass Knob With Nothing In It. You Couldn't Do It When Your Uncle George Was Living Much Less When He's Dead.

I'd Lay Down My Life For Her - Mas'r Davy - Oh! Most Content And Cheerful! She's More To Me - Gent'lmen - Than - She's All To Me That Ever I Can Want, And More Than Ever I - Than Ever I Could Say. I - I Love Her True. There Ain't A Gent'lman In All The Land - Nor Yet Sailing Upon All The Sea - That Can Love His Lady More Than I Love Her.

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

The Word Of A Gentleman Is As Good As His Bond — Sometimes Better; As In The Present Case, Where His Bond Might Prove But A Doubtful Sort Of Security.

She Was More Than Human To Me. She Was A Fairy, A Sylph. I Don't Know What She Was, Anything That No One Ever Saw, And Everything That Everybody Ever Wanted. I Was Swallowed Up In An Abyss Of Love In An Instant. There Was No Pausing On The Brink, No Looking Down, Or Looking Back. I Was Gone, Headlong, Before I Had Sense To Say A Word To Her.

The Citizen ... Preserved The Resolute Bearing Of One Who Was Not To Be Frowned Down Or Daunted, And Who Cared Very Little For Any Nobility But That Of Worth And Manhood.

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

It Is Not Possible To Know How Far The Influence Of Any Amiable, Honest-hearted Duty-doing Man Flies Out Into The World, But It Is Very Possible To Know How It Has Touched One's Self In Going By.

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

Now, I Return To This Young Fellow. And The Communication I Have Got To Make Is, That He Has Great Expectations.

The American Elite Is Almost Beyond Redemption. . . . Moral Relativism Has Set In So Deeply That The Gilded Classes Have Become Incapable Of Discerning Right From Wrong. Everything Can Be Explained Away, Especially By Journalists. Life Is One Great Moral Mush--sophistry Washed Down With Chardonnay. The Ordinary Citizens, Thank Goodness, Still Adhere To Absolutes.... It Is They Who Have Saved The Republic From Creeping Degradation While Their 'betters' Were Derelict.

Your Voice And Music Are The Same To Me.

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

He Describes It As A Large Apartment, With A Red Brick Floor And A Capacious Chimney; The Ceiling Garnished With Hams, Sides Of Bacon, And Ropes Of Onions.

"a Child!" Said Edith, Looking At Her. "when Was I A Child? What Childhood Did You Ever Leave To Me? I Was A Woman - Artful, Designing, Mercenary, Laying Snares For Men - Before I Knew Myself, Or You, Or Even Understood The Base And Wretched Aim Of Every New Display I Learnt. You Gave Birth To A Woman. Look Upon Her. She Is In Her Pride Tonight."

"oh!" Said My Aunt, "i Was Not Aware At First To Whom I Had The Pleasure Of Objecting."

Now, What I Want Is, Facts. . . . Facts Alone Are Wanted In Life.

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Wernher Von Braun

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