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To close the eyes, and give a seemly comfort to the apparel of the dead, is poverty's holiest touch of nature.

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
Dead
Eyes
Seemly
Eye
Holiest
Death
Apparel
Nature
Touch
Give
Comfort
Giving
Close
Poverty

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Why, what I may think after dinner, returns Mr. Jobling, is one thing, my dear Guppy, and what I may think before dinner is another thing.
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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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We need never be ashamed of our tears.
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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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But I am sure that I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round...as a good time a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely.
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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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The most important thing in life is to stop saying 'I wish' and start saying 'I will.' Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities.
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The night crept on apace, the moon went down, the stars grew pale and dim, and morning, cold as they, slowly approached. Then, from behind a distant hill, the noble sun rose up, driving the mists in phantom shapes before it, and clearing the earth of their ghostly forms till darkness came again.
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I loved you madly in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly.
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It was one of those hot, silent nights, when people sit at windows listening for the thunder which they know will shortly break when they recall dismal tales of hurricanes and earthquakes and of lonely travellers on open plains, and lonely ships at sea, struck by lightning.
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Have I yet to learn that the hardest and best-borne trials are those which are never chronicled in any earthly record, and are suffered every day!
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One always begins to forgive a place as soon as it's left behind.
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Are you thankful for not being young?' 'Yes, sir. If I was young, it would all have to be gone through again, and the end would be a weary way off, don't you see?
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Mystery and disappointment are not absolutely indispensable to the growth of love, but they are, very often, its powerful auxiliaries.
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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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I stole her heart away and put ice in its place.
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It was the beginning of a day in June the deep blue sky unsullied by a cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. The streets were, as yet, nearly free from passengers, the houses and shops were closed, and the healthy air of morning fell like breath from angels, on the sleeping town.
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