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Christmas is a poor excuse every 25th of December to pick a man's pockets.
Charles Dickens
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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
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Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
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She was too intent upon her work, and too earnest in what she said, and too composed and quiet altogether, to be on the watch for any look he might direct towards her in reply so the shaft of his ungrateful glance fell harmless, and did not wound her.
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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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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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'Tis love that makes the world go round, my baby.
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You are hard at work madam , said the man near her. Yes, Answered Madam Defarge I have a good deal to do. What do you make, Madam ? Many things. For instance --- For instance, returned Madam Defarge , composedly , Shrouds. The man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, feeling it mightily close and oppressive .
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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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All knives and forks were working away at a rate that was quite alarming very few words were spoken and everybody seemed to eat his utmost, in self defence, as if a famine were expected to set in before breakfast-time to-morrow morning, and it had become high time to assert the first law of nature.
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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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Then I'm sorry to say, I've eat your pie.
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That glorious vision of doing good is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds.
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We must leave the discovery of this mystery, like all others, to time, and accident, and Heaven's pleasure.
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What is your best, your very best, ale a glass? Two pence halfpenny, says the landlord, is the price of the Genuine Stunning Ale. Then, says I, producing the money, just draw me a glass of the Genuine Stunning, if you please, with a good head on it.
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All other swindlers upon earth are nothing to the self-swindlers, and with such pretences did I cheat myself. Surely a curious thing. That I should innocently take a bad half-crown of somebody else's manufacture, is reasonable enough but that I should knowingly reckon the spurious coin of my own make, as good money!
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Remember, to the last, that while there is life there is hope.
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I am what you designed me to be.I am your blade. You cannot now complain if you also feel the hurt
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There are hopes, the bloom of whose beauty would be spoiled by the trammels of description too lovely, too delicate, too sacred for words, they should only be known through the sympathy of hearts.
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At last, however, he began to think -- as you or I would have thought at first for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too . . .
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New thoughts and hopes were whirling through my mind, and all the colours of my life were changing.
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I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief.
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