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I confess I have yet to learn that a lesson of the purest good may not be drawn from the vilest evil.
Charles Dickens
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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
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Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
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External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.
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Love is in all things a most wonderful teacher.
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The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered, the God of day goes down upon the dreary scene, and in short you are for ever floored.
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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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Around and around the house the leaves fall thick, but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow.
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I stole her heart away and put ice in its place.
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No space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused
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Spite is a little word, but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.
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Notwithstanding his very liberal laudation of himself, however, the Major was selfish. It may be doubted whether there ever was a more entirely selfish person at heart or at stomach is perhaps a better expression, seeing that he was more decidedly endowed with that latter organ than with the former.
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Poetry makes life what lights and music do the stage.
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A multitude of people and yet solitude.
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We need never be ashamed of our tears.
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We must meet reverses boldly, and not suffer them to frighten us, my dear. We must learn to act the play out. We must live misfortune down, Trot!
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Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seeds of rapacious licence and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind.
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There are strings, said Mr. Tappertit, flourishing his bread-and-cheese knife in the air, in the human heart that had better not be wibrated...
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I had neither the good sense nor the good feeling to know that this was all my fault, and that if I had been easier with Joe, Joe would have been easier with me. I felt impatient of him and out of temper with him in which condition he heaped coals of fire on my head.
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