Quote

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.

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
Interest
Object
Living
Regard
Separable
Must
Objects
Curiously
Men
Deep
Avoidance
Life
Probably
Aversion
Least
Spark
Within
Sparks
Dies
Suspicion

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Yet, I had nothing else to tell unless, indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less moment still), that no one can ever believe this Narrative, in the reading, more than I believed it in the writing.
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It will be your duty, and it will be your pleasure too to estimate her (as you chose her) by the qualities that she has, and not by the qualities she may not have.
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There are hopes, the bloom of whose beauty would be spoiled by the trammels of description too lovely, too delicate, too sacred for words, they should only be known through the sympathy of hearts.
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Dead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, Right Reverends and Wrong Reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with Heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying thus around us every day.
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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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'Do you spell it with a 'V' or a 'W'?' inquired the judge. 'That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my Lord'.
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[I]t seemed as if the streets were absorbed by the sky, and the night were all in the air.
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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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It was a foggy day in London, and the fog was heavy and dark. Animate London, with smarting eyes and irritated lungs, was blinking, wheezing, and choking inanimate London was a sooty spectre, divided in purpose between being visible and invisible, and so being wholly neither.
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Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the pudding.
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And O there are days in this life, worth life and worth death.
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Never sign a valentine with your own name.
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Repression is the only lasting philosophy. The dark deference of fear and slavery, my friend, will keep the dogs obedient to the whip, as long as this roof shuts out the sky.
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As he glided stealthily along, creeping beneath the shelter of the walls and doorways, the hideous old man seemed like some loathsome reptile, engendered in the slime and darkness through which he moved: crawling forth, by night, in search of some rich offal for a meal.
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... still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine.
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The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day.
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It is no worse, because I write of it. It would be no better, if I stopped my most unwilling hand. Nothing can undo it nothing can make it otherwise than as it was.
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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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Nobody near me here, but rats, and they are fine stealthy secret fellows.
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the sight of me is good for sore eyes
Charles Dickens