Archive for the ‘Charles Dickens’ Category

Ideas, like ghosts, must be spoken to a little before they will explain themselves

Monday, November 7th, 2011
carved wooden face behind bars

Some mist there may have been, issuing from that leaden casket, his cranium, which, if it could have taken shape and form, would have become a genie; but it could not; and it only so far followed the example of the smoke in the Arabian story, as to roll out in a thick cloud, and there hang and hover. But it left a little figure visible upon a lonely shore, and…

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It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done

Saturday, September 26th, 2009
sunset

I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their course done, lying…

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It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold

Tuesday, March 31st, 2009
sunset

We had our pea-coats with us, and I took a bag. Of all my worldly possessions I took no more than the few necessaries that filled the bag. Where I might go. what I might do, or when I might return, were questions utterly unknown to me; nor did I vex my mind with them, for it was wholly set on…

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