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And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself.

Charles Dickens

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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
Author
Editor
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Social Critic
Writer
Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
Boz
Bored
Death
Place
Life

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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.
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I could not help wondering in my own mind....how it came to pass that our joints of meat were of such extraordinary shapes - and whether our butcher contracted for all the deformed sheep that came into the world but I kept my reflections to myself.
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If you can't get to be oncommon through going straight, you'll never get to do it through going crooked. So don't tell no more on 'em, Pip, and live well and die happy.
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Did it ever strike you on such a morning as this that drowning would be happiness and peace?
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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
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My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a head I should better understand your affairs.
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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.
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Long may it remain in this mixed world a question not easy of decision, which is the more beautiful evidence of the Almighty's goodness, the soft white hand formed for the ministrations of sympathy and tenderness, or the rough hard hand which the heart softens, teaches, and guides in a moment.
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I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies.
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Home is a word stronger than a magician ever spoke.
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Troubles are exceedingly gregarious in their nature, and flying in flocks are apt to perch capriciously.
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Well, said my aunt, this is his boy - his son. He would be as like his father as it's possible to be, if he was not so like his mother, too.
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Love is in all things a most wonderful teacher.
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But the mere truth won't do. You must have a lawyer.
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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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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.
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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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When the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil but wait for the time with the tiger and the devil chained -not shown- yet always ready.
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It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens down the temper so cry away.
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She better liked to see him free and happy, even than to have him near her, because she loved him better than herself.
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