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The meagre lighthouse all in white, haunting the seaboard, as if it were the ghost of an edifice that had once had colour and rotundity, dripped melancholy tears after its late buffeting by the waves.

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
Waves
Melancholy
Colour
Ghost
Dripped
Wave
Meagre
Tears
Lighthouse
Late
Edifice
White
Haunting

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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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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 will live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within me.
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Don't you think that any secret course is an unworthy one?
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every idiot who goes about with a 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.
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Remember, to the last, that while there is life there is hope.
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[I]t seemed as if the streets were absorbed by the sky, and the night were all in the air.
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Christmas is a time in which, of all times in the year, the memory of every remediable sorrow, wrong, and trouble in the world around us, should be active with us, not less than our own experiences, for all good.
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My dear young lady, crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered alone. The youngest and fairest are too often its chosen victims.
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Change begets change.
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It is no worse, because I write of it. It would be no better, if I stopped my most unwilling hand. Nothing can undo it nothing can make it otherwise than as it was.
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Captain Cuttle, like all mankind, little knew how much hope had survived within him under discouragement, until he felt its death-shock.
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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.
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That sort of half sigh, which, accompanied by two or three slight nods of the head, is pity's small change in general society.
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For nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress.
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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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A multitude of people and yet solitude.
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a most excellent man, though I could have wished his trousers not quite so tight in some places and not quite so loose in others.
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... still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine.
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And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself.
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