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You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer,” said Miss Pross, in her breathing. “Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman.

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
Breathing
Appearance
Miss
Missing
Shall
Wife
Better
Lucifer
Might
Nevertheless

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It is known, to the force of a single pound weight, what the engine will do but, not all the calculators of the National Debt can tell me the capacity for good or evil, for love or hatred, for patriotism or discontent, for the decomposition of virtue into vice, or the reverse.
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Stephen Blackpool fall into the loneliest of lives, the life of solitude among a familiar crowd. The stranger in the land who looks into ten thousand faces for some answering look and never finds it, is in cheering society as compared with him who passes ten averted faces daily, that were once the countenances of friends
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I could settle down into a state of equable low spirits, and resign myself to coffee.
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Every man, however obscure, however far removed from the general recognition, is one of a group of men impressible for good, and impressible for evil, and it is in the nature of things that he cannot really improve himself without in some degree improving other men.
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But tears were not the things to find their way to Mr. Bumble’s soul his heart was waterproof. Like washable beaver hats that improve with rain, his nerves were rendered stouter and more vigorous, by showers of tears, which, being tokens of weakness, and so far tacit admissions of his own power, pleased and exalted him.
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Mr. Bazzard's father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously laid about him with a flail, a pitch-fork, and every agricultural implement available for assaulting purposes, on the slightest hint of his son's having written a play.
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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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The word of a gentleman is as good as his bond — sometimes better as in the present case, where his bond might prove but a doubtful sort of security.
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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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A very little key will open a very heavy door.
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Marley was dead, to begin with ... This must be distintly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.
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When she took her opposite place in the carriage corner, the brightness in her face was so charming to behold, that on her exclaiming, What beautiful stars and what a glorious night! the Secretary said Yes, but seemed to prefer to see the night and the stars in the light of her lovely little countenance, to looking out of window.
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If there were no bad people, there would be no good lawyers.
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... Arthur Gride, whose bleared eyes gloated only over the outward beauties, and were blind to the spirit which reigned within, evinced - a fantastic kind of warmth certainly, but not exactly that kind of warmth of feeling which the contemplation of virtue usually inspires.
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Repression is the only lasting philosophy. The dark deference of fear and slavery, my friend, will keep the dogs obedient to the whip, as long as this roof shuts out the sky.
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Can you suppose there's any harm in looking as cheerful and being as cheerful as our poor circumstances will permit?
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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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May I tell you why it seems to me a good thing for us to remember wrong that has been done us? That we may forgive it.
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Take the pencil and write under my name, 'I forgive her.
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... I have read in your face, as plain as if it was a book, that but for some trouble and sorrow we should never know half the good there is about us.
Charles Dickens