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While the flowers, pale and unreal in the moonlight, floated away upon the river and thus do greater things that once were in our breasts, and near our hearts, flow from us to the eternal sea.
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
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Writer
Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
Boz
Away
Thus
Moonlight
Heart
Hearts
Unreal
Things
Sea
Pale
Life
Flow
Breasts
Flower
River
Eternal
Flowers
Greater
Near
Upon
Rivers
Floated
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In the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the sun itself is--as the light called human life is--at its coming and its going.
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'Do you spell it with a 'V' or a 'W'?' inquired the judge. 'That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my Lord'.
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There is a Sunday conscience as well as a Sunday coat and those who make religion a secondary concern put the coat and conscience carefully by to put on only once a week.
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I think it must somewhere be written that the virtues of mothers shall be visited on their children, as well as the sins of their fathers.
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... Treachery don't come natural to beaming youth but trust and pity, love and constancy,-they do, thank God!
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The very dogs were all asleep, and the flies, drunk with moist sugar in the grocer's shop, forgot their wings and briskness, and baked to death in dusty corners of the window.
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At the great iron gate of the churchyard he stopped and looked in. He looked up at the high tower spectrally resisting the wind, and he looked round at the white tombstones, like enough to the dead in their winding-sheets, and he counted the nine tolls of the clock-bell.
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The haggard aspect of the little old man was wonderfully suited to the place he might have groped among old churches and tombs and deserted houses and gathered all the spoils with his own hands. There was nothing in the whole collection but was in keeping with himself nothing that looked older or more worn than he.
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I will die here where I have walked. And I will walk here, though I am in my grave. I will walk here until the pride of this house is humbled.
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Fledgeby deserved Mr. Alfred Lammle's eulogium. He was the meanest cur existing, with a single pair of legs. And instinct (a word we all clearly understand) going largely on four legs, and reason always on two, meanness on four legs never attains the perfection of meanness on two.
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I recollected one story there was in the village, how that on a certain night in the year (it might be that very night for anything I knew), all the dead people came out of the ground and sat at the heads of their own graves till morning.
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Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home!
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All partings foreshadow the great final one.
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Although a skillful flatterer is a most delightful companion if you have him all to yourself, his taste becomes very doubtful when he takes to complimenting other people.
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It is no worse, because I write of it. It would be no better, if I stopped my most unwilling hand. Nothing can undo it nothing can make it otherwise than as it was.
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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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Dead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, Right Reverends and Wrong Reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with Heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying thus around us every day.
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But the words she spoke of Mrs Harris, lambs could not forgive ... nor worms forget.
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Tongue well that's a wery good thing when it an't a woman.
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Missionaries are perfect nuisances and leave every place worse than they found it.
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