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Listlessness to everything, but brooding sorrow, was the night that fell on my undisciplined heart. Let me look up from it - as at last I did, thank Heaven! - and from its long, sad, wretched dream, to dawn.
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
Heart
Heaven
Listlessness
Long
Lasts
Undisciplined
Last
Brooding
Night
Wretched
Dream
Fell
Look
Dawn
Everything
Thank
Looks
Sorrow
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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.
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One always begins to forgive a place as soon as it's left behind.
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Lord, keep my memory green.
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I had neither the good sense nor the good feeling to know that this was all my fault, and that if I had been easier with Joe, Joe would have been easier with me. I felt impatient of him and out of temper with him in which condition he heaped coals of fire on my head.
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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.
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There seems a magic in the very name of Christmas.
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... 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.
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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...
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There lives at least one being who can never change-one being who would be content to devote his whole existence to your happiness-who lives but in your eyes-who breathes but in your smiles-who bears the heavy burden of life itself only for you.
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All knives and forks were working away at a rate that was quite alarming very few words were spoken and everybody seemed to eat his utmost, in self defence, as if a famine were expected to set in before breakfast-time to-morrow morning, and it had become high time to assert the first law of nature.
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What greater gift than the love of a cat.
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Never, said my aunt, be mean in anything never be false never be cruel. Avoid those three vices, Trot, and I can always be hopeful of you.
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Then I'm sorry to say, I've eat your pie.
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Anything for the quick life, as the man said when he took the situation at the lighthouse.
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