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Walter, she said, looking full upon him with her affectionate eyes, like you, I hope for better things. I will pray for them, and believe that they will arrive.
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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Landport
Hampshire
Dickens
C.Dickens
Charles John Huffam Dickens
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More quotes by Charles Dickens
Vices are sometimes only virtues carried to excess!
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There is no deception now, Mr. Weller. Tears, said Job, with a look of momentary slyness, tears are not the only proofs of distress, nor the best ones.
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But tears were not the things to find their way to Mr. Bumble’s soul his heart was waterproof. Like washable beaver hats that improve with rain, his nerves were rendered stouter and more vigorous, by showers of tears, which, being tokens of weakness, and so far tacit admissions of his own power, pleased and exalted him.
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Your tale is of the longest, observed Monks, moving restlessly in his chair. It is a true tale of grief and trial, and sorrow, young man, returned Mr. Brownlow, and such tales usually are if it were one of unmixed joy and happiness, it would be very brief.
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There was a little plate of hothouse nectarines on the table, and there was another of grapes, and another of sponge-cakes, and there was a bottle of light wine ... 'This is my frugal breakfast ... Give me my peach, my cup of coffee, and my claret.'
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To be allowed to call her Dora, to write to her, to dote upon and worship her, to have reason to think that when she was with other people she was yet mindful of me, seemed to me the summit of human ambition - I am sure it was the summit of mine.
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It was understood that nothing of a tender nature could possibly be confided to old Barley, by reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any subject more psychological than gout, rum, and purser's stores.
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The aphorism Whatever is, is right, would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence that nothing that ever was, was wrong.
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The rich, sweet smell of the hayricks rose to his chamber window the hundred perfumes of the little flower-garden beneath scented the air around the deep-green meadows shone in the morning dew that glistened on every leaf as it trembled in the gentle air: and the birds sang as if every sparkling drop were a fountain of inspiration to them.
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How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don't ask you for your love give me yourself and your hatred give me yourself and that pretty rage give me yourself and that enchanting scorn it will be enough for me.
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The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only seen as children always do I believe when we go back to them
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And yet I love him. I love him so much and so dearly, that when I sometimes think my life may be but a weary one, I am proud of it and glad of it. I am proud and glad to suffer something for him, even though it is of no service to him, and he will never know of it or care for it.
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A new heart for a New Year, always!
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That glorious vision of doing good is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds.
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There might be some credit in being jolly.
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Nobody near me here, but rats, and they are fine stealthy secret fellows.
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He had a certain air of being a handsome man-which he was not and a certain air of being a well-bred man-which he was not. It was mere swagger and challenge but in this particular, as in many others, blustering assertion goes for proof, half over the world.
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Although I am an old man, night is generally my time for walking.
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All knives and forks were working away at a rate that was quite alarming very few words were spoken and everybody seemed to eat his utmost, in self defence, as if a famine were expected to set in before breakfast-time to-morrow morning, and it had become high time to assert the first law of nature.
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But the words she spoke of Mrs Harris, lambs could not forgive ... nor worms forget.
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