Quote

He was consious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares, long, long, forgotten.

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
Joy
Floating
Care
Cares
Long
Hopes
Connected
Forgotten
Air
Thoughts
Odours
Thousand
Joys

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The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty mist and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black substances and the sun, blood-red on the eastern marshes behind dark masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on fire.
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Some happy talent, and some fortunate opportunity, may form the two sides of the ladder on which some men mount, but the rounds of that ladder must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear and there is no substitute for thorough-going, ardent, and sincere earnestness.
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The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us but, so far we are pursued by nothing else.
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There are chords in the human heart- strange, varying strings- which are only struck by accident which will remain mute and senseless to appeals the most passionate and earnest, and respond at last to the slightest casual touch.
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A loving heart is the truest wisdom.
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There is nothing so strong or safe in an emergency of life as the simple truth.
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It will be your duty, and it will be your pleasure too to estimate her (as you chose her) by the qualities that she has, and not by the qualities she may not have.
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Look round and round upon this bare bleak plain, and see even here, upon a winter's day, how beautiful the shadows are! Alas! It is the nature of their kind to be so. The loveliest things in life... are but shadows and they come and go, and change and fade away, as rapidly as these.
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On the motionless branches of some trees, autumn berries hung like clusters of coral beads, as in those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels . . .
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Don't you think that any secret course is an unworthy one?
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As he glided stealthily along, creeping beneath the shelter of the walls and doorways, the hideous old man seemed like some loathsome reptile, engendered in the slime and darkness through which he moved: crawling forth, by night, in search of some rich offal for a meal.
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The water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran into evening, so much life in the city ran into death according to rule, time and tide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together in their dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran their course.
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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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The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only seen as children always do I believe when we go back to them
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I stole her heart away and put ice in its place.
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