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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

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
Believe
Looked
Always
Streets
Seen
Courses
Course
Small
Back
Children

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It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
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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.
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My advice is to never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time.
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O, if the deeds of human creatures could be traced to their source, how beautiful would even death appear for how much charity, mercy, and purified affection would be seen to have their growth in dusty graves!
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She writhes under her life. A woman more angry, passionate, reckless, and revengeful never lived.
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Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
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It is a silent, shady place, with a paved courtyard so full of echoes, that sometimes I am tempted to believe that faint responses to the noises of old times linger there yet, and that these ghosts of sound haunt my footsteps as I pace it up and down.
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I know quite enough of myself, said Bella, with a charming air of being inclined to give herself up as a bad job, and I don't improve upon acquaintance...
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If the parks be the lungs of London we wonder what Greenwich Fair is--a periodical breaking out, we suppose--a sort of spring rash.
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Heaven suits the back to the burden.
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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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Heaven above was blue, and earth beneath was green the river glistened like a path of diamonds in the sun the birds poured forth their songs from the shady trees the lark soared high above the waving corn and the deep buzz of insects filled the air.
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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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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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I admire machinery as much is any man, and am as thankful to it as any man can be for what it does for us. But it will never be a substitute for the face of a man, with his soul in it, encouraging another man to be brave and true.
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No one who can read, ever looks at a book, even unopened on a shelf, like one who cannot.
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Satisfy yourself beyond all doubt that you are qualified for the course to which you now aspire.....and try to achieve something in your own land before you venture on a strange one.
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It is the last straw that breaks the camel's back.
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The worst of all listeners is the man who does nothing but listen.
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It is required of every man, the ghost returned, that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death.
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