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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.
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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Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
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A good thing can't be cruel.
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He describes it as a large apartment, with a red brick floor and a capacious chimney the ceiling garnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of onions.
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Then what can you want to do now? said the old lady,gaining courage. I wants to make your flesh creep, replied the boy.
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Your Honour, unless your Honour, without a moment's loss of time, makes sail for the nearest shore, this is a doomed ship, and her name is the Coffin!
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We all have some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time - of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances.
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Think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you.
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A new heart for a New Year, always!
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I fear your kind and open communication, which has rendered me more painfully conscious of my own defects, has not improved me, sighed Kate.
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Cows are my passion. What I have ever sighed for has been to retreat to a Swiss farm, and live entirely surrounded by cows - and china.
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While the flowers, pale and unreal in the moonlight, floated away upon the river and thus do greater things that once were in our breasts, and near our hearts, flow from us to the eternal sea.
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We must scrunch or be scrunched.
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A day wasted on others is not wasted on one's self.
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Shall we speak of the inspiration of a poet or a priest, and not of the heart impelled by love and self-devotion to the lowliest work in the lowliest way of life?
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Not knowing how he lost himself, or how he recovered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing himself again.
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Some persons hold, he pursued, still hesitating, that there is a wisdom of the Head, and that there is a wisdom of the Heart...
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My good fellow, retorted Mr. Boffin, you have my word and how you can have that, without my honour too, I don't know. I've sorted a lot of dust in my time, but I never knew the two things go into separate heaps.
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Tongue well that's a wery good thing when it an't a woman.
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The worst of all listeners is the man who does nothing but listen.
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Pale and pinched-up faces hovered about the windows where was tempting food hungry eyes wandered over the profusion guarded by one thin sheet of brittle glass--an iron wall to them half-naked shivering figures stopped to gaze at Chinese shawls and golden stuffs of India.
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-Why don't you cry again, you little wretch? -Because I'll never cry for you again.
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