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In particular, there was a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave quite a winey flavour to the table beer he poured it out so superbly.
Charles Dickens
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Charles Dickens
Age: 58 †
Born: 1812
Born: February 7
Died: 1870
Died: June 9
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Charles John Huffam Dickens
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More quotes by Charles Dickens
Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies.
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My daughter, there are times of moral danger when the hardest virtuous resolution to form is flight, and when the most heroic bravery is flight.
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Old Marley was dead as a doornail... The wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile.
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Family not only need to consist of merely those whom we share blood, but also for those whom we'd give blood.
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My advice is to never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time.
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Polly put the kettle on, we'll all have tea.
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Battledore and shuttlecock's a wery good game, vhen you an't the shuttlecock and two lawyers the battledores, in which case it gets too exciting to be pleasant.
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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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Then idiots talk, said Eugene, leaning back, folding his arms, smoking with his eyes shut, and speaking slightly through his nose, of Energy. If there is a word in the dictionary under any letter from A to Z that I abominate, it is energy.
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Thus violent deeds live after men upon the earth, and traces of war and bloodshed will survive in mournful shapes long after those who worked the desolation are but atoms of earth themselves.
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a most excellent man, though I could have wished his trousers not quite so tight in some places and not quite so loose in others.
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Never imitate the eccentricities of genius, but toil after it in its truer flights. They are not so easy to follow, but they lead to higher regions.
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Procrastination is the thief of time, collar him.
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Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
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Fledgeby deserved Mr. Alfred Lammle's eulogium. He was the meanest cur existing, with a single pair of legs. And instinct (a word we all clearly understand) going largely on four legs, and reason always on two, meanness on four legs never attains the perfection of meanness on two.
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The haggard aspect of the little old man was wonderfully suited to the place he might have groped among old churches and tombs and deserted houses and gathered all the spoils with his own hands. There was nothing in the whole collection but was in keeping with himself nothing that looked older or more worn than he.
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This is a world of action, and not moping and droning in.
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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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The beating of my heart was so violent and wild that I felt as if my life were breaking from me.
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Black are the brooding clouds and troubled the deep waters, when the Sea of Thought, first heaving from a calm, gives up its Dead
Charles Dickens
