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Oh the nerves, the nerves the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are!
Charles Dickens
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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
Author
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Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
Boz
Little
Anxiety
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Machines
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Change begets change. Nothing propagates so fast.
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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.
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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!
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There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast.
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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.'
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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.
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When we have done our very, very best, papa, and that is not enough, then I think the right time must have come for asking help of others.
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Probably every new and eagerly expected garment ever put on since clothes came in, fell a trifle short of the wearer's expectation.
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Meow says the cat ,quack says the duck , Bow wow wow says the dog ! Grrrr!
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It was understood that nothing of a tender nature could possibly be confided to old Barley, by reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any subject more psychological than gout, rum, and purser's stores.
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O' course I came to look arter you, my darlin', replied Mr. Weller for once permitting his passion to get the better of his veracity.
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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.
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Many merry Christmases, many happy New Years. Unbroken friendships, great accumulations of cheerful recollections and affections on earth, and heaven for us all.
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Never, never, before Heaven, have I thought of you but as the single, bright, pure, blessed recollection of my boyhood and my youth. Never have I from the first, and never shall I to the last, regard your part in my life, but as something sacred, never to be lightly thought of, never to be esteemed enough, never, until death, to be forgotten.
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Scattered wits take a long time in picking up.
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To be allowed to call her Dora, to write to her, to dote upon and worship her, to have reason to think that when she was with other people she was yet mindful of me, seemed to me the summit of human ambition - I am sure it was the summit of mine.
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It is the last straw that breaks the camel's back.
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What are the odds so long as the fire of the soul is kindled at the taper of conviviality, and the wing of friendship never molts a feather?
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