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I'll tell you, said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper, what real love it. It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter - as I did!

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
World
Tell
Submission
Soul
Utter
Self
Humiliation
Whole
Devotion
Giving
Passionate
Real
Blind
Unquestioning
Heart
Trust
Hurried
Love
Belief
Whisper

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At last, in the dead of the night, when the street was very still indeed, Little Dorrit laid the heavy head upon her bosom, and soothed her to sleep. And thus she sat at the gate, as it were alone looking up at the stars, and seeing the clouds pass over them in their wild flight-which was the dance at Little Dorrit's party.
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Regrets are the natural property of grey hairs.
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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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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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Them which is of other naturs thinks different.
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The privileges of the side-table included the small prerogatives of sitting next to the toast, and taking two cups of tea to other people's one.
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A good thing can't be cruel.
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'Tis love that makes the world go round, my baby.
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It's nothing, returned Mrs Chick. It's merely change of weather. We must expect change.
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She had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes eyes that were very pretty and very good.
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The aphorism Whatever is, is right, would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence that nothing that ever was, was wrong.
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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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How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don't ask you for your love give me yourself and your hatred give me yourself and that pretty rage give me yourself and that enchanting scorn it will be enough for me.
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I was so humiliated, hurt, spurned, offended, angry, sorry--I cannot hit upon the right name for the smart--God knows what its name was--that tears started to my eyes.
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The coffee was boiling over a charcoal fire, and large slices of bread and butter were piled one upon the other like deals in a lumber yard.
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Family not only need to consist of merely those whom we share blood, but also for those whom we'd give blood.
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