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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!
Charles Dickens
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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
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Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
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More quotes by Charles Dickens
Meow says the cat ,quack says the duck , Bow wow wow says the dog ! Grrrr!
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It would have been cruel in Miss Havisham, horribly cruel, to practise on the susceptibility of a poor boy, and to torture me through all these years with a vain hope and an idle pursuit, if she had reflected on the gravity of what she did. But I think she did not. I think that in the endurance of her own trial, she forgot mine, Estella.
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Do not close your heart against all my efforts to help you.
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No one has the least regard for the man with them all, he has been an object of avoidance, suspicion, and aversion but the spark of life within him is curiously separable from himself now, and they have a deep interest in it, probably because it IS life, and they are living and must die.
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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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At last, however, he began to think -- as you or I would have thought at first for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too . . .
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Dickens writes that an event, began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support it, dies away of itself.
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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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No one who can read, ever looks at a book, even unopened on a shelf, like one who cannot.
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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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He was sailing over a boundless expanse of sea, with a blood-red sky above, and the angry waters, lashed into fury beneath, boiling and eddying up, on every side. There was another vessel before them, toiling and labouring in the howling storm: her canvas fluttering in ribbons from the mast.
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We lawyers are always curious, always inquisitive, always picking up odds and ends for our patchwork minds, since there is no knowing when and where they may fit into some corner.
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If a pig could give his mind to anything, he would not be a pig.
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Vengeance and retribution require a long time it is the rule.
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The sum of the whole is this: walk and b« happy! walk and be healthy. The best of all ways to lengthen ourdays, is notas Mr. Thomas Moore has it, ]To steal a few hours from night, my love but with leave, be it spoken, to walk steadily and with a purpose.
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Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.
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Although a skillful flatterer is a most delightful companion if you have him all to yourself, his taste becomes very doubtful when he takes to complimenting other people.
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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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I found every breath of air, and every scent, and every flower and leaf and blade of grass and every passing cloud, and everything in nature, more beautiful and wonderful to me than I had ever found it yet. This was my first gain from my illness. How little I had lost, when the wide world was so full of delight for me.
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Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own.
Charles Dickens