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A multitude of people and yet solitude.
Charles Dickens
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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
Author
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Journalist
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Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
Boz
Solitude
People
Multitude
Multitudes
More quotes by Charles Dickens
It was a long and gloomy night that gathered on me, haunted by the ghosts of many hopes, of many dear remembrances, many errors, many unavailing sorrows and regrets.
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And I am quite serious when I say that I do not believe there are, on the whole earth besides, so many intensified bores as in these United States.
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What lawsuits grow out of the graves of rich men, every day sowing perjury, hatred, and lies among near kindred, where there should be nothing but love!
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No space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused
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I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart
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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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It may be only small injustice that the child can be exposed to but the child is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter.
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the sight of me is good for sore eyes
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Have a heart that never hardens
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Everything that Mr Smallweed's grandfather ever put away in his mind was a grub at first, and is a grub at last. In all his life he has never bred a single butterfly.
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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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The ocean asks for nothing but those who stand by her shores gradually attune themselves to her rhythm.
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In fine weather the old gentelman is almost constantly in the garden and when it is too wet to go into it, he will look out the window at it, by the hour together. He has always something to do there, and you will see him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and planting, with manifest delight.
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His wardrobe was extensive-very extensive-not strictly classical perhaps, not quite new, nor did it contain any one garment made precisely after the fashion of any age or time, but everything was more or less spangled and what can be prettier than spangles!
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What greater gift than the love of a cat.
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The flowers that sleep by night, opened their gentle eyes and turned them to the day. The light, creation's mind, was everywhere, and all things owned its power.
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Vices are sometimes only virtues carried to excess!
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I only ask for information.
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If there were no bad people, there would be no good lawyers.
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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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