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The last trumpet ever to be sounded shall blow even algebra to wreck.

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
Ever
Algebra
Even
Trumpets
Wrecks
Sounded
Blow
Shall
Lasts
Trumpet
Last
Wreck

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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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Polly put the kettle on, we'll all have tea.
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This reminds me, Godmother, to ask you a serious question. You are as wise as wise can be (having been brought up by the fairies), and you can tell me this: Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it, or never to have had it?
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Cheerfulness and contentment are great beautifiers, and are famous preservers of good looks.
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It is when our budding hopes are nipped beyond recovery by some rough wind, that we are the most disposed to picture to ourselves what flowers they might have borne, if they had flourished . . .
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In seasons of pestilence, some of us will have a secret attraction to the disease--a terrible passing inclination to die of it.
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Opening her eyes again, and seeing her husband's face across the table, she leaned forward to give it a pat on the cheek, and sat down to supper, declaring it to be the best face in the world.
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things cannot be expected to turn up of themselves. We must in a measure assist to turn them up
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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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That glorious vision of doing good is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds.
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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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A loving heart is the truest wisdom.
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I stole her heart away and put ice in its place.
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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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Most men are individuals no longer so far as their business, its activities, or its moralities are concerned. They are not units but fractions.
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