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The worst of all listeners is the man who does nothing but listen.
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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Journalist
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Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
Boz
Listening
Listen
Worst
Doe
Nothing
Men
Listeners
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Friendless I can never be, for all mankind are my kindred, and I am on ill terms with no one member of my great family.
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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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There was a frosty rime upon the trees, which, in the faint light of the clouded moon, hung upon the smaller branches like dead garlands.
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He thought of the number of girls and women she had seen marry, how many homes with children in them she had seen grow up around her, how she had contentedly pursued her own lone quite path-for him. ~ Stephen speaking of Rachael
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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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Heaven above was blue, and earth beneath was green the river glistened like a path of diamonds in the sun the birds poured forth their songs from the shady trees the lark soared high above the waving corn and the deep buzz of insects filled the air.
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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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The New Testament is the very best book that ever was or ever will be known in the world.
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No one who can read, ever looks at a book, even unopened on a shelf, like one who cannot.
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A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!
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Well, well! said my aunt. I only ask. I don't depreciate her. Poor little couple! And so you think you were formed for one another, and are to go through a party-supper-table kind of life, like two pretty pieces of confectionery, do you, Trot?
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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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