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I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart

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
Heart
Never
Opened
Lips
Close

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It was a foggy day in London, and the fog was heavy and dark. Animate London, with smarting eyes and irritated lungs, was blinking, wheezing, and choking inanimate London was a sooty spectre, divided in purpose between being visible and invisible, and so being wholly neither.
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If a dread of not being understood be hidden in the breasts of other young people to anything like the extent to which it used to be hidden in mine - which I consider probable, as I have no particular reason to suspect myself of having been a monstrosity - it is the key to many reservations.
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I was a blacksmith's boy but yesterday I am - what shall I say I am today?
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I am a neat hand at cookery, and I'll tell you what I knocked up for my Christmas-eve dinner in the Library Cart. I knocked up a beefsteak-pudding for one, with two kidneys, a dozen oysters, and a couple of mushrooms thrown in. It's a pudding to put a man in good humour with everything, except the two bottom buttons of his waistcoat.
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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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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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Buy an annuity cheap, and make your life interesting to yourself and everybody else that watches the speculation.
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Do not close your heart against all my efforts to help you.
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Let no man turn aside, ever so slightly, from the broad path of honour, on the plausible pretence that he is justified by the goodness of his end. All good ends can be worked out by good means.
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Wen you're a married man, Samivel, you'll understand a good many things as you don't understand now but vether it's worth while goin' through so much to learn so little, as the charity-boy sand ven he go to the end of the alphabet, it's a matter of taste.
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Trifles make the sum of life.
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It was very dark but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud which shone with a lurid light, like monstrous heaps of copper that had been heated in a furnace, and were growing cold.
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It was a dagger in the haughty father's heart, an arrow in his brain, to see how the flesh and blood he could not disown clung to this obscure stranger, and he sitting by. Not that he cared to whom his daughter turned, or from whom turned away. The swift sharp agony struck through him, as he thought of what his son might do.
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And the voices in the waves are always whispering to Florence, in their ceaseless murmuring, of love - of love, eternal and illimitable, not bounded by the confines of this world, or by the end of time, but ranging still, beyond the sea, beyond the sky, to the invisible country far away!
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He was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset
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The rippling of the river seemed to cause a correspondent stir in his uneasy reflections. He would have laid them asleep if he could, but they were in movement, like the stream, and all tending one way with a strong current.
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All I would say is, that I can go abroad without your family coming forward to favour me, - in short, with a parting Shove of their cold shoulders and that, upon the whole, I would rather leave England with such impetus as I possess, than derive any acceleration of it from that quarter.
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We are so very 'umble.
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Loves and Cupids took to flight afraid, and Martyrdom had no such torment in its painted history of suffering.
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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