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For nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress.
Charles Dickens
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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
Author
Editor
Journalist
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Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
Boz
Morning
Season
Easy
Gentle
Night
Seasons
Beauties
Nature
Changes
Scarcely
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Every
Gives
Cradle
Time
Progress
Grave
Beauty
Graves
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If the parks be the lungs of London we wonder what Greenwich Fair is--a periodical breaking out, we suppose--a sort of spring rash.
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Mrs Joe was a very clean housekeeper, but had an exquisite art of making her clenliness more umcomfortable and unacceptable than dirt itself. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and some people do the same by their religion.
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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.
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Money, says the proverb, makes money. When you have got a little, it is often easy to get more.
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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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It was a foggy day in London, and the fog was heavy and dark. Animate London, with smarting eyes and irritated lungs, was blinking, wheezing, and choking inanimate London was a sooty spectre, divided in purpose between being visible and invisible, and so being wholly neither.
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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.
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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.
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'Tis love that makes the world go round, my baby.
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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.
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In fine weather the old gentelman is almost constantly in the garden and when it is too wet to go into it, he will look out the window at it, by the hour together. He has always something to do there, and you will see him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and planting, with manifest delight.
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Other sound than the owl's voice there was none, save the falling of a fountain into its stone basin for, it was one of those dark nights that hold their breath by the hour together, and then heave a long low sigh, and hold their breath again.
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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.
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Look round and round upon this bare bleak plain, and see even here, upon a winter's day, how beautiful the shadows are! Alas! It is the nature of their kind to be so. The loveliest things in life... are but shadows and they come and go, and change and fade away, as rapidly as these.
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We lawyers are always curious, always inquisitive, always picking up odds and ends for our patchwork minds, since there is no knowing when and where they may fit into some corner.
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Your tale is of the longest, observed Monks, moving restlessly in his chair. It is a true tale of grief and trial, and sorrow, young man, returned Mr. Brownlow, and such tales usually are if it were one of unmixed joy and happiness, it would be very brief.
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Dignity, and even holiness too, sometimes, are more questions of coat and waistcoat than some people imagine.
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Ah, if only I had brought a cigar with me! This would have established my identity.
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There is prodigious strength in sorrow and despair.
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