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I verily believe that her not remembering and not minding in the least, made me cry again, inwardly - and that is the sharpest crying of all.

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
Remembering
Crying
Cry
Least
Remember
Minding
Made
Sharpest
Believe
Verily
Inwardly

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There is no deception now, Mr. Weller. Tears, said Job, with a look of momentary slyness, tears are not the only proofs of distress, nor the best ones.
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But, tears were not the things to find their way to Mr. Bumble's soul his heart was waterproof.
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Equity sends questions to Law. Law sends questions back to equity Law finds it can't do this, equity finds it can't do that neither can do anything, without this solicitor instructing and this counsel appearing for A, and that solicitor instructing & that counsel appearing for B.
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A day wasted on others is not wasted on one's self.
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There lives at least one being who can never change-one being who would be content to devote his whole existence to your happiness-who lives but in your eyes-who breathes but in your smiles-who bears the heavy burden of life itself only for you.
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He thought of the number of girls and women she had seen marry, how many homes with children in them she had seen grow up around her, how she had contentedly pursued her own lone quite path-for him. ~ Stephen speaking of Rachael
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When the moon shines very brilliantly, a solitude and stillness seem to proceed from her that influence even crowded places full of life.
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Minds, like bodies, will often fall into a pimpled, ill-conditioned state from mere excess of comfort.
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Although a man may lose a sense of his own importance when he is a mere unit among a busy throng, all utterly regardless of him, it by no means follows that he can dispossess himself, with equal facility, of a very strong sense of the importance and magnitude of his cares.
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If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was not merely over head and ears in love with her, but I was saturated through and through. Enough love might have been wrung out of me, metaphorically speaking, to drown anybody in and yet there would have remained enough within me, and all over me, to pervade my entire existence.
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So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature on it.
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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.
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Dickens writes that an event, began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support it, dies away of itself.
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Eccentricities of genius.
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It had grown darker as they talked, and the wind was sawing and the sawdust was whirling outside paler windows. The underlying churchyard was already settling into deep dim shade, and the shade was creeping up to the housetops among which they sat. As if, said Eugene, as if the churchyard ghosts were rising.
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It always grieves me to contemplate the initiation of children into the ways of life when they are scarcely more than infants. It checks their confidence and simplicity, two of the best qualities that heaven gives them, and demands that they share our sorrows before they are capable of entering into our enjoyments.
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Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!... his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his Hands are mutes.
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The aim of talk should be like the aim of a flying arrow -- to hit the mark but to this end there must be a mark to hit, that is, there must be a listener.
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There was a little plate of hothouse nectarines on the table, and there was another of grapes, and another of sponge-cakes, and there was a bottle of light wine ... 'This is my frugal breakfast ... Give me my peach, my cup of coffee, and my claret.'
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A man is lucky if he is the first love of a woman. A woman is lucky if she is the last love of a man.
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