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When Men Are About To Commit, Or Sanction The Commission Of Some Injustice, It Is Not Uncommon For Them To Express Pity For The Object Either Of That Or Some Parallel Proceeding, And To Feel Themselves, At The Time, Quite Virtuous And Moral, And Immensely Superior To Those Who Express No Pity At All. This Is A Kind Of Upholding Of Faith Above Works, And Is Very Comfortable.

-Charles Dickens

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When Men Are About

Charles Dickens

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When Men Are About To Commit, Or Sanction The Commission Of Some Injustice, It Is Not Uncommon For Them To Express Pity For The Object Either Of That Or Some Parallel Proceeding, And To Feel Themselves, At The Time, Quite Virtuous And Moral, And Immensely Superior To Those Who Express No Pity At All. This Is A Kind Of Upholding Of Faith Above Works, And Is Very Comfortable.

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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!

…a Lady Of What Is Commonly Called An Uncertain Temper --a Phrase Which Being Interpreted Signifies A Temper Tolerably Certain To Make Everybody More Or Less Uncomfortable.

When I Speak Of Home, I Speak Of The Place Where In Default Of A Better--those I Love Are Gathered Together; And If That Place Where A Gypsy's Tent, Or A Barn, I Should Call It By The Same Good Name Notwithstanding.

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

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.

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.

‎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.

The One Great Principle Of English Law Is To Make Business For Itself.

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

When Men Are About To Commit, Or Sanction The Commission Of Some Injustice, It Is Not Uncommon For Them To Express Pity For The Object Either Of That Or Some Parallel Proceeding, And To Feel Themselves, At The Time, Quite Virtuous And Moral, And Immensely Superior To Those Who Express No Pity At All. This Is A Kind Of Upholding Of Faith Above Works, And Is Very Comfortable.

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!

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.

I Had Considered How The Things That Never Happen, Are Often As Much Realities To Us, In Their Effects, As Those That Are Accomplished.

Words Of Wisdom

Flora, Always Tall, Had Grown To Be Very Broad Too, And Short Of Breath; But That Was Not Much. Flora, Whom He Had Left A Lily, Had Become A Peony; But That Was Not Much. Flora, Who Had Seemed Enchanting In All She Said And Thought, Was Diffuse And Silly. That Was Much. Flora, Who Had Been Spoiled And Artless Long Ago, Was Determined To Be Spoiled And Artless Now. That Was A Fatal Blow.

The Sun,--the Bright Sun, That Brings Back, Not Light Alone, But New Life, And Hope, And Freshness To Man--burst Upon The Crowded City In Clear And Radiant Glory. Through Costly-coloured Glass And Paper-mended Window, Through Cathedral Dome And Rotten Crevice, It Shed Its Equal Ray.

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.

The Earth Covered With A Sable Pall As For The Burial Of Yesterday; The Clumps Of Dark Trees, Its Giant Plumes Of Funeral Feathers, Waving Sadly To And Fro: All Hushed, All Noiseless, And In Deep Repose, Save The Swift Clouds That Skim Across The Moon, And The Cautious Wind, As, Creeping After Them Upon The Ground, It Stops To Listen, And Goes Rustling On, And Stops Again, And Follows, Like A Savage On The Trail.

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.

To Bring Deserving Things Down By Setting Undeserving Things Up Is One Of Its Perverted Delights; And There Is No Playing Fast And Loose With The Truth, In Any Game, Without Growing The Worse For It.

Words Of Wisdom

"lord Bless You!" Said Mr. Omer, Resuming His Pipe, "a Man Must Take The Fat With The Lean; That's What He Must Make Up His Mind To, In This Life. "

Words Of Wisdom

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

Procrastination

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.

And How Did Little Tim Behave?” Asked Mrs Cratchit, When She Had Rallied Bob On His Credulity And Bob Had Hugged His Daughter To His Heart’s Content. “as Good As Gold,” Said Bob, “and Better. Somehow He Gets Thoughtful, Sitting By Himself So Much, And Thinks The Strangest Things You Ever Heard. He Told Me, Coming Home, That He Hoped The People Saw Him In The Church, Because He Was A Cripple, And It Might Be Pleasant To Them To Remember Upon Christmas Day, Who Made Lame Beggars Walk, And Blind Men See.

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".

When A Man Bleeds Inwardly, It Is A Dangerous Thing For Himself; But When He Laughs Inwardly, It Bodes No Good To Other People.

"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?"

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

You Have Been The Last Dream Of My Soul.

We Need Be Careful How We Deal With Those About Us, When Every Death Carries To Some Small Circle Of Survivors, Thoughts Of So Much Omitted, And So Little Done- Of So Many Things Forgotten, And So Many More Which Might Have Been Repaired! There Is No Remorse So Deep As That Which Is Unavailing; If We Would Be Spared Its Tortures, Let Us Remember This, In Time.

Oliver Twist Has Asked For More!

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

Shall We Speak Of The Inspiration Of A Poet Or A Priest, And Not Of The Heart Impelled By Love And Self-devotion To The Lowliest Work In The Lowliest Way Of Life?

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.

If Ever Household Affections And Loves Are Graceful Things, They Are Graceful In The Poor. The Ties That Bind The Wealthy And The Proud To Home May Be Forged On Earth, But Those Which Link The Poor Man To His Humble Hearth Are Of The True Metal And Bear The Stamp Of Heaven.

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.

It's In Vain To Recall The Past, Unless It Works Some Influence Upon The Present.

Without Strong Affection, And Humanity Of Heart, And Gratitude To That Being Whose Code Is Mercy, And Whose Great Attribute Is Benevolence To All Things That Breathe, True Happiness Can Never Be Attained.

"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."

The Sum Of The Whole Is This: Walk And B« Happy! Walk And Be Healthy. The Best Of All Ways To Lengthen Ourdays, Is Notas Mr. Thomas Moore Has It, " ]to Steal A Few Hours From Night, My Love;" But With Leave, Be It Spoken, To Walk Steadily And With A Purpose.

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

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.

The Two Stand In The Fast-thinning Throng Of Victims, But They Speak As If They Were Alone. Eye To Eye, Voice To Voice, Hand To Hand, Heart To Heart, These Two Children Of The Universal Mother, Else So Wide Apart And Differing, Have Come Together On The Dark Highway, To Repair Home Together And To Rest In Her Bosom.

And It Was Always Said Of Him, That He Knew How To Keep Christmas Well, If Any Man Alive Possessed The Knowledge. May That Be Truly Said Of Us, And All Of Us! And So, As Tiny Tim Observed, God Bless Us, Every One!

At Last, However, He Began To Think -- As You Or I Would Have Thought At First; For It Is Always The Person Not In The Predicament Who Knows What Ought To Have Been Done In It, And Would Unquestionably Have Done It Too . . .

Words Of Wisdom

Captain Cuttle, Like All Mankind, Little Knew How Much Hope Had Survived Within Him Under Discouragement, Until He Felt Its Death-shock.

Words Of Wisdom

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.

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

My Dear Young Lady, Crime, Like Death, Is Not Confined To The Old And Withered Alone. The Youngest And Fairest Are Too Often Its Chosen Victims.

You Will Profit By The Failure, And Will Avoid It Another Time. I Have Done A Similar Thing Myself, In Construction, Often. Every Failure Teaches A Man Something, If He Will Learn.

Words Of Wisdom

I Am No More Annoyed When I Think Of The Expression, Than I Should Be Annoyed By A Man's Opinion Of A Picture Of Mine, Who Had No Eye For Pictures; Or Of A Piece Of Music Of Mine, Who Had No Ear For Music.

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

It Was A Harder Day's Journey Than Yesterday's, For There Were Long And Weary Hills To Climb; And In Journeys, As In Life, It Is A Great Deal Easier To Go Down Hill Than Up. However, They Kept On, With Unabated Perseverance, And The Hill Has Not Yet Lifted Its Face To Heaven That Perseverance Will Not Gain The Summit Of At Last.

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

Both Miss Lavinia And Miss Clarissa Had A Superstition, However, That He Would Have Declared His Passion, If He Had Not Been Cut Short In His Youth (at About Sixty) By Over-drinking His Constitution, And Over-doing An Attempt To Set It Right Again By Swilling Bath Water.

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

Dombey Sat In The Corner Of The Darkened Room In The Great Arm-chair By The Bedside, And Son Lay Tucked Up Warm In A Little Basket Bedstead, Carefully Disposed On A Low Settee Immediately In Front Of The Fire And Close To It, As If His Constitution Were Analogous To That Of A Muffin, And It Was Essential To Toast Him Brown While He Was Very New.

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.

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.

And The Voices In The Waves Are Always Whispering To Florence, In Their Ceaseless Murmuring, Of Love - Of Love, Eternal And Illimitable, Not Bounded By The Confines Of This World, Or By The End Of Time, But Ranging Still, Beyond The Sea, Beyond The Sky, To The Invisible Country Far Away!

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

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.

The Dreams Of Childhood - It's Airy Fables, Its Graceful, Beautiful, Humane, Impossible Adornments Of The World Beyond; So Good To Be Believed In Once, So Good To Be Remembered When Outgrown.

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.

There Is A Drowsy State, Between Sleeping And Waking, When You Dream More In Five Minutes With Your Eyes Half Open, And Yourself Half Conscious Of Everything That Is Passing Around You, Than You Would In Five Nights With Your Eyes Fast Closed, And Your Senses Wrapt In Perfect Unconsciousness. At Such Time, A Mortal Knows Just Enough Of What His Mind Is Doing, To Form Some Glimmering Conception Of Its Mighty Powers, Its Bounding From Earth And Spurning Time And Space, When Freed From The Restraint Of Its Corporeal Associate.

It Was Very Dark; But In The Murky Sky There Were Masses Of Cloud Which Shone With A Lurid Light, Like Monstrous Heaps Of Copper That Had Been Heated In A Furnace, And Were Growing Cold.

Indeed, It May Be Laid Down As A General Principle, That The More Extended The Ancestry, The Greater The Amount Of Violence And Vagabondism; For In Ancient Days Those Two Amusements, Combining A Wholesome Excitement With A Promising Means Of Repairing Shattered Fortunes, Were At Once The Ennobling Pursuit And The Healthful Recreation Of The Quality Of This Land.

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.

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

I Found Uriah Reading A Great Fat Book, With Such Demonstrative Attention, That His Lank Forefinger Followed Up Every Line As He Read, And Made Clammy Tracks Along The Page (or So I Fully Believed) Like A Snail.

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.

He Was Touched In The Cavity Where His Heart Should Have Been, In That Nest Of Addled Eggs, Where The Birds Of Heaven Would Have Lived If They Had Not Been Whistled Away, By The Fervour Of This Reproach.

"hope To The Last!" Said Newman, Clapping Him On The Back. "always Hope; That's Dear Boy. Never Leave Off Hoping; It Don't Answer. Do You Mind Me, Nick? It Don't Answer. Don't Leave A Stone Unturned. It's Always Something, To Know You've Done The Most You Could. But, Don't Leave Off Hoping, Or It's Of No Use Doing Anything. Hope, Hope, To The Last!"

Why Should I Disguise What You Know So Well, But What The Crowd Never Dream Of? We Companies Are All Birds Of Prey; Mere Birds Of Prey. The Only Question Is, Whether In Serving Our Own Turn, We Can Serve Yours Too; Whether In Double-lining Our Own Nest, We Can Put A Single Living Into Yours.

As The Gloom And Shadow Thickened Behind Him, In That Place Where It Had Been Gathering So Darkly, It Took, By Slow Degrees, - Or Out Of It There Came, By Some Unreal, Unsubstantial Process - Not To Be Traced By Any Human Sense, - An Awful Likeness Of Himself!

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.

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

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

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.

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.

I Looked At The Stars, And Considered How Awful It Would Be For A Man To Turn His Face Up To Them As He Froze To Death, And See No Help Or Pity In All The Glittering Multitude.

He Says-him As Was Here Just Now-'when Tom Shut Up The House, Mate, To Go To Rack, The Beds Was Left, All Made, Like As If Somebody Was A-going To Sleep In Every Bed. And If You Was To Walk Through The Bedrooms Now, You'd See The Ragged Mouldy Bedclothes A Heaving And A Heaving Like Seas. And A Heaving And A Heaving With What?' He Says. 'why, With The Rats Under 'em.'

I Should Never Have Made My Success In Life If I Had Not Bestowed Upon The Least Thing I Have Ever Undertaken The Same Attention And Care That I Have Bestowed Upon The Greatest.

Success In Life

Please, Sir, I Want Some More.

... 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.

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.

No One Who Can Read, Ever Looks At A Book, Even Unopened On A Shelf, Like One Who Cannot.

Words Of Wisdom

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

You Touch Some Of The Reasons For My Going, Not For My Staying Away.

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.

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

Consider Nothing Impossible, Then Treat Possiblities As Probabilities.

I Have A Heart To Be Stabbed In Or Shot In, I Have No Doubt, And, Of Course, If It Ceased To Beat, I Would Cease To Be. But You Know What I Mean. I Have No Softness There, No—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.

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!

Prowling About The Rooms, Sitting Down, Getting Up, Stirring The Fire, Looking Out The Window, Teasing My Hair, Sitting Down To Write, Writing Nothing, Writing Something And Tearing It Up...

You Don't Carry In Your Countenance A Letter Of Recommendation.

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.

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

"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?"

I Only Ask To Be Free. The Butterflies Are Free.

Before I Go," He Said, And Paused -- "i May Kiss Her?" It Was Remembered Afterwards That When He Bent Down And Touched Her Face With His Lips, He Murmured Some Words. The Child, Who Was Nearest To Him, Told Them Afterwards, And Told Her Grandchildren When She Was A Handsome Old Lady, That She Heard Him Say, "a Life You Love.

Man," Said The Ghost, "if Man You Be In Heart, Not Adamant, Forbear That Wicked Cant Until You Have Discovered What The Surplus Is, And Where It Is. Will You Decide What Men Shall Live, What Men Shall Die?

The Dew Seemed To Sparkle More Brightly On The Green Leaves The Air To Rustle Among Them With A Sweeter Music And The Sky Itself To Look More Blue And Bright. Such Is The Influence Which The Condition Of Our Own Thoughts, Exercise, Even Over The Appearance Of External Objects.

Perhaps Second-hand Cares, Like Second-hand Clothes, Come Easily Off And On.

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.

You Should Keep Dogs-fine Animals-sagacious.

Discipline Must Be Maintained.

"why, What I May Think After Dinner," Returns Mr. Jobling, "is One Thing, My Dear Guppy, And What I May Think Before Dinner Is Another Thing."

Nobody Near Me Here, But Rats, And They Are Fine Stealthy Secret Fellows.

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.

If You Could See My Legs When I Take My Boots Off, You'd Form Some Idea Of What Unrequited Affection Is.

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.

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.

Its Matter Was Not New To Me, But Was Presented In A New Aspect. It Shook Me In My Habit - The Habit Of Nine-tenths Of The World - Of Believing That All Was Right About Me, Because I Was Used To It.

Words Of Wisdom

I Went Away, Dear Agnes, Loving You. I Stayed Away, Loving You. I Returned Home, Loving You!

There Are Strings In The Human Heart That Had Better Not Be Vibrated.

For The Night-wind Has A Dismal Trick Of Wandering Round And Round A Building Of That Sort, And Moaning As It Goes; And Of Trying, With Its Unseen Hand, The Windows And The Doors; And Seeking Out Some Crevices By Which To Enter.

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.

Old Mr. Rarx Was Not A Pleasant Man To Look At, Nor Yet To Talk To, Or To Be With, For No One Could Help Seeing That He Was A Sordid And Selfish Character, And That He Had Warped Further And Further Out Of The Straight With Time.

Houses Were Knocked Down; Streets Broken Through And Stopped; Deep Pits And Trenches Dug In The Ground; Enormous Heaps Of Earth And Clay Thrown Up; Buildings That Were Undermined And Shaking, Propped By Great Beams Of Wood. In Short, The Yet Unfinished And Unopened Railroad Was In Progress.

... No, The Office Is One Thing, And Private Life Is Another. When I Go Into The Office, I Leave The Castle Behind Me, And When I Come Into The Castle, I Leave The Office Behind Me.

Words Of Wisdom

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

I Can See Others In The Sunlight; I Can See Our Boats' Crews And Our Athletic Young Men On The Glistening Water, Or Speckled With The Moving Lights Of Sunlit Leaves; But I Myself Am Always In The Shadow Looking On. Not Unsympathetically, - God Forbid! - But Looking On Alone, Much As I Looked At Sylvia From The Shadows Of The Ruined House, Or Looked At The Red Gleam Shining Through The Farmer's Windows, And Listened To The Fall Of Dancing Feet, When All The Ruin Was Dark That Night In The Quadrangle.

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

You Fear The World Too Much,' She Answered Gently. 'all Your Other Hopes Have Merged Into The Hope Of Being Beyond The Chance Of Its Sordid Reproach. I Have Seen Your Nobler Aspirations Fall Off, One By One, Until The Master Passion, Gain, Engrosses You. Have I Not?

"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."

It Being A Part Of Mrs. Pipchin's System Not To Encourage A Child's Mind To Develop And Expand Itself Like A Young Flower, But To Open It By Force Like An Oyster.

"i Am Not Afeard, My Heart's-delight," Resumed The Captain. "there's Been Most Uncommon Bad Weather In Them Latitudes, There's No Denyin', And They Have Drove And Drove And Been Beat Off, May Be T'other Side The World. But The Ship's A Good Ship, And The Lad's A Good Lad; And It Ain't Easy, Thank The Lord," The Captain Made A Little Bow, "to Break Up Hearts Of Oak, Whether They're In Brigs Or Buzzums."

The Cold Hoarfrost Glistened On The Tombstones, And Sparkled Like Rows Of Gems, Among The Stone Carvings Of The Old Church. The Snow Lay Hard And Crisp Upon The Ground; And Spread Over The Thickly-strewn Mounds Of Earth, So White And Smooth A Cover, That It Seemed As If Corpses Lay There, Hidden Only By Their Winding Sheets.

Never Imitate The Eccentricities Of Genius, But Toil After It In Its Truer Flights. They Are Not So Easy To Follow, But They Lead To Higher Regions.

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

Regrets Are The Natural Property Of Grey Hairs.

True Love Believes Everything, And Bears Everything, And Trusts Everything.

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.

Your Sex Have Such A Surprising Animosity Against One Another, When You Do Differ.

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.

A New Heart For A New Year, Always!

And It Is Not A Slight Thing When They, Who Are So Fresh From God, Love Us.

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.

One Great Blemish In The Popular Mind Of America And The Prolific Parent Of An Innumerable Brood Of Evils, Is Universal Distrust . . . You No Sooner Set Up An Idol Firmly, Than You Are Sure To Pull It Down And Dash It Into Fragments: And This Because Directly You Reward A Benefactor, Or A Public Servant, You Distrust Him, Merely Because He Is Rewarded . . . . Any Man Who Attains A High Place Among You, From The President Downwards, May Date His Downfall From That Moment.

If Natur Has Gifted A Man With Powers Of Argeyment, A Man Has A Right To Make The Best Of 'em, And Has Not A Right To Stand On False Delicacy, And Deny That He Is So Gifted; For That Is A Turning Of His Back On Natur, A Flouting Of Her, A Slighting Of Her Precious Caskets, And A Proving Of One's Self To Be A Swine That Isn't Worth Her Scattering Pearls Before.

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

Why Am I Always At War With Myself? Why Have I Told, As If Upon Compulsion, What I Knew All Along I Ought To Have Withheld? Why Am I Making A Friend Of This Woman Beside Me, In Spite Of The Whispers Against Her That I Hear In My Heart?

Money And Goods Are Certainly The Best Of References.

Come In, -- Come In! And Know Me Better, Man! I Am The Ghost Of Christmas Present. Look Upon Me! You Have Never Seen The Like Of Me Before!

"there Are Strings," Said Mr. Tappertit, Flourishing His Bread-and-cheese Knife In The Air, "in The Human Heart That Had Better Not Be Wibrated..."

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.

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.

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

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

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.

I Admire Machinery As Much Is Any Man, And Am As Thankful To It As Any Man Can Be For What It Does For Us. But It Will Never Be A Substitute For The Face Of A Man, With His Soul In It, Encouraging Another Man To Be Brave And True.

A Dangerous Quality, If Real; And A Not Less Dangerous One, If Feigned.

Words Of Wisdom

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!

"as I Think I Told You Once Before," Said I, "it Is You Who Have Been, In Your Greed And Cunning, Against All The World. It May Be Profitable To You To Reflect, In Future, That There Never Were Greed And Cunning In The World Yet, That Did Not Do Too Much, And Overreach Themselves. It Is As Certain As Death."

Words Of Wisdom

When She Took Her Opposite Place In The Carriage Corner, The Brightness In Her Face Was So Charming To Behold, That On Her Exclaiming, "what Beautiful Stars And What A Glorious Night!" The Secretary Said "yes," But Seemed To Prefer To See The Night And The Stars In The Light Of Her Lovely Little Countenance, To Looking Out Of Window.

Thus, It Comes To Pass, That A Certain Room In A Certain Old Hall, Where A Certain Bad Lord, Baronet, Knight, Or Gentleman, Shot Himself, Has Certain Planks In The Floor From Which The Blood Will Not Be Taken Out. You May Scrape And Scrape, As The Present Owner Has Done, Or Plane And Plane, As His Father Did, Or Scrub And Scrub, As His Grandfather Did, Or Burn And Burn With Strong Acids, As His Great-grandfather Did, But, There The Blood Will Still Be - No Redder And No Paler - No More And No Less - Always Just The Same.

There Have Been Occasions In My Later Life (i Suppose As In Most Lives) When I Have Felt For A Time As If A Thick Curtain Had Fallen On All Its Interest And Romance, To Shut Me Out From Anything Save Dull Endurance Any More. Never Has That Curtain Dropped So Heavy And Blank, As When My Way In Life Lay Stretched Out Straight Before Me Through The Newly-entered Road Of Apprenticeship To Joe.

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.

The Law Is An Ass, An Idiot.

We Forge The Chains We Wear In Life.

Law Of Attraction

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

Wen You're A Married Man, Samivel, You'll Understand A Good Many Things As You Don't Understand Now; But Vether It's Worth While Goin' Through So Much To Learn So Little, As The Charity-boy Sand Ven He Go To The End Of The Alphabet, It's A Matter Of Taste.

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

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

Fan The Sinking Flame Of Hilarity With The Wing Of Friendship; And Pass The Rosy Wine.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

The Aphorism "whatever Is, Is Right," Would Be As Final As It Is Lazy, Did It Not Include The Troublesome Consequence That Nothing That Ever Was, Was Wrong.

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.

I Was So Humiliated, Hurt, Spurned, Offended, Angry, Sorry--i Cannot Hit Upon The Right Name For The Smart--god Knows What Its Name Was--that Tears Started To My Eyes.

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.

I Do Not Know The American Gentleman, God Forgive Me For Putting Two Such Words Together.

As I Said Just Now, The World Has Gone Past Me. I Don't Blame It; But I No Longer Understand It. Tradesmen Are Not The Same As They Used To Be, Apprentices Are Not The Same, Business Is Not The Same, Business Commodities Are Not The Same. Seven-eighths Of My Stock Is Old-fashioned. I Am An Old-fashioned Man In An Old-fashioned Shop, In A Street That Is Not The Same As I Remember It. I Have Fallen Behind The Time, And Am Too Old To Catch It Again.

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

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

The Secret Was Such An Old One Now, Had So Grown Into Me And Become A Part Of Myself, That I Could Not Tear It Away.

Great Expectations

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

When The Moon Shines Very Brilliantly, A Solitude And Stillness Seem To Proceed From Her That Influence Even Crowded Places Full Of Life.

You Are Too Young To Know How The World Changes Everyday,' Said Mrs Creakle, 'and How The People In It Pass Away. But We All Have To Learn It, David; Some Of Us When We Are Young, Some Of Us When We Are Old, Some Of Us At All Times In Our Lives.

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.

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

I Have Been, As The Phrase Is, Liberally Educated, And Am Fit For Nothing.

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

We All Draw A Little And Compose A Little, And None Of Us Have Any Idea Of Time Or Money.

I Am At The Moment Deaf In The Ears, Hoarse In The Throat, Red In The Nose, Green In The Gills, Damp In The Eyes, Twitchy In The Joints And Fractious In Temper From A Most Intolerable And Oppressive Cold.

I Saw That The Bride Within The Bridal Dress Had Withered Like The Dress, And Like The Flowers, And Had No Brightness Left But The Brightness Of Her Sunken Eyes.

The Two Commonest Mistakes In Judgement ... Are, The Confounding Of Shyness With Arrogance - A Very Common Mistake Indeed - And The Not Understanding That An Obstinate Nature Exists In A Perpetual Struggle With Itself.

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

The Rich, Sweet Smell Of The Hayricks Rose To His Chamber Window; The Hundred Perfumes Of The Little Flower-garden Beneath Scented The Air Around; The Deep-green Meadows Shone In The Morning Dew That Glistened On Every Leaf As It Trembled In The Gentle Air: And The Birds Sang As If Every Sparkling Drop Were A Fountain Of Inspiration To Them.

I Revere The Memory Of Mr. F. As An Estimable Man And Most Indulgent Husband, Only Necessary To Mention Asparagus And It Appeared Or To Hint At Any Little Delicate Thing To Drink And It Came Like Magic In A Pint Bottle; It Was Not Ecstasy But It Was Comfort.

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

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.

Troubles Are Exceedingly Gregarious In Their Nature, And Flying In Flocks Are Apt To Perch Capriciously.

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.

A Silent Look Of Affection And Regard When All Other Eyes Are Turned Coldly Away-the Consciousness That We Possess The Sympathy And Affection Of One Being When All Others Have Deserted Us-is A Hold, A Stay, A Comfort, In The Deepest Affliction, Which No Wealth Could Purchase, Or Power Bestow.

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.

Marley Was Dead, To Begin With. There Is No Doubt Whatever About That. The Register Of His Burial Was Signed By The Clergyman, The Clerk, The Undertaker, And The Chief Mourner. Scrooge Signed It. And Scrooge's Name Was Good Upon 'change For Anything He Chose To Put His Hand To. Old Marley Was As Dead As A Door-nail.

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