Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy;.
And yet there is not in France, with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a sprig, a peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more certain than those that have produced this horror. Crush.
But fashions are like human beings. They come in, nobody knows when, why, or how; and they go out, nobody knows when, why, or how. Everything is like life, in my opinion, if you look at it in that point of view.
Oh woman, God beloved in old Jerusalem! The best among us need deal lightly with thy faults, if only for the punishment thy nature will endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us, on the Day of Judgment!
But struggling with these better feelings was pride, – the vice of the lowest and most debased creatures no less than of the high and self-assured.
And who among the company at Monseigneur’s reception in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt, that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold-laced, pumped, and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out!
I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing can show better than my history whether that prediction was verified or falsified by the result.
I believe I had a delirious idea of seizing the red-hot poker out of the fire, and running him through with it.
I have become accustomed to hear Mr. Micawber assert that he has sold himself to the D.
We have none of us long to wait for Death. Patience, patience! He’ll be here soon enough for us all.
I know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy life in you?” Every.
He couldn’t finish the name. The final letter swelled in his throat, to the size of the whole alphabet.
All things ran their course.
It’s all very true! It’s a weakness to be so affectionate, but I can’t help it.
Always the same with you people!
May the Devil carry away these idiots!
In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?
Having made this lunatic confession, I began to throw my torn-up grass into the river, as if I had some thoughts of following it.
When they took a young man into Tellson’s London house, they hid him somewhere till he was old. They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full Tellson flavour and blue-mould upon him.
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more.