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It may be only small injustice that the child can be exposed to but the child is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter.

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
Child
Exposed
High
Scales
Bigs
Stands
Boned
Hands
Injustice
Rocking
May
According
Hunter
Many
Expectations
Hunters
Children
Horse
Irish
World
Small
Scale

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The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, but they speak as if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home together and to rest in her bosom.
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When the wind is blowing and the sleet or rain is driving against the dark windows, I love to sit by the fire, thinking of what I have read in books of voyage and travel.
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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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Long may it remain in this mixed world a question not easy of decision, which is the more beautiful evidence of the Almighty's goodness, the soft white hand formed for the ministrations of sympathy and tenderness, or the rough hard hand which the heart softens, teaches, and guides in a moment.
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The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty mist and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black substances and the sun, blood-red on the eastern marshes behind dark masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on fire.
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She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her 'Ode to an Expiring Frog,' sir.
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My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a head I should better understand your affairs.
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And O there are days in this life, worth life and worth death.
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What is peace? Is it war? No. Is it strife? No. Is it lovely, and gentle, and beautiful, and pleasant, and serene, and joyful? O yes!
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For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round a building of that sort, and moaning as it goes and of trying, with its unseen hand, the windows and the doors and seeking out some crevices by which to enter.
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'Do you spell it with a 'V' or a 'W'?' inquired the judge. 'That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my Lord'.
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Her heart-is given him, with all its love and truth. She would joyfully die with him, or, better than that, die for him. She knows he has failings, but she thinks they have grown up through his being like one cast away, for the want of something to trust in, and care for, and think well of.
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things cannot be expected to turn up of themselves. We must in a measure assist to turn them up
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Trifles make the sum of life.
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Drink with me, my dear, said Mr. Weller. Put your lips to this here tumbler, and then I can kiss you by deputy.
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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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O, if the deeds of human creatures could be traced to their source, how beautiful would even death appear for how much charity, mercy, and purified affection would be seen to have their growth in dusty graves!
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I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!
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You hear, Eugene?' said Lightwood over his shoulder. 'You are deeply interested in lime.' 'Without lime,' returned that unmoved barrister at law, 'my existence would be unilluminated by a ray of hope.
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