Quotes from Charles Dickens

Shadow XI. Dusk XII. Darkness XIII. Fifty-two XIV. The Knitting Done

There's not a Hand in this town, sir, man, woman, or child, but has one ultimate object in life. That object is, to be fed on turtle soup and venison with a gold spoon. Now, they're not a-going—none of 'em—ever to be fed on turtle soup and venison with a gold spoon.

She indulged in melancholy, that cheapest and most accessible of luxuries...

I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by and by into our lives.

level," said this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare. "'Recalled to life.' That's a Blazing strange message. Much

and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past

plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords

I know it all, I know it all. Be a brave man, my Gaspard! It is better for the poor plaything to die so, than to live. It has died in a moment without pain. Could it have lived an hour as happily?

No one can understand him better than I do. The greatest wisdom that ever lived in the world could scarcely know Richard better than my love does.

Then tell the Wind and Fire where to stop, but don't tell me.

in Storm V. The Wood-Sawyer VI. Triumph VII. A Knock at the Door VIII. A Hand at Cards

The world is a lively place enough, in which we must accommodate ourselves to circumstances, sail with the stream as glibly as we can, be content to take froth for substance, the surface for the depth, the counterfeit for the real coin. I wonder no philosopher has ever established that our globe itself is hollow. It should be, if Nature is consistent in her works.

When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring

at the Door VIII. A Hand at Cards IX. The Game Made X.

Ah me!' said he, 'what might have been is not what is!' With which commentary on human life, indicating an experience of it not exclusively his own, he made the best of his way to the end of his journey. …

He was the meekest of his sex, the mildest of little men. He sidled in and out of a room, to take up the less space. He walked as softly as the Ghost in Hamlet, and more slowly.

Go and be somethingological directly.

Fellow of Delicacy XIII. The Fellow of No Delicacy XIV. The Honest Tradesman XV. Knitting XVI. Still

Oliver looked very worn and shadowy from sickness: and made an ineffectual attempt to stand up, out of respect to his benefactor: which terminated in his sinking back into the chair again; and the fact is, if the truth must be told, that Mr. Brownlow's heart, being large enough for any six ordinary old gentlemen of humane disposition, forced a supply of tears into his eyes, by some hydraulic process which we are not sufficiently philosophical to be in a condition to explain.

The whole business of the human race, between London and Dover, being spoliation, Mr Dorrit was waylaid at Dartford, pillaged at Gravesend, rifled at Rochester, fleeced at Sittingbourne, and sacked at Canterbury.

He had not a handsome face, but it was better than handsome: being extremely amiable and cheerful.

Now, what I want is Facts.

there is excellent provision made of dainty new bread, crusty twists, cool fresh butter, thin slices of ham, tongue, and German sausage, and delicate little rows of anchovies nestling in parsley, not to mention new-laid eggs, to be brought up warm in a napkin, and hot buttered toast. For

Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up: What then? The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.