Mas uma vez o senhor me disse: "Que Deus a abençoe! Que Deus a perdoe!" E se foi capaz de me dizer isso naquela ocasião, não hesitará em repetir agora as palavras... agora que passei pelo aprendizado mais duro do sofrimento, que posso compreender como era o seu coração. O sofrimento venceu-me e despedaçou-me, mas espero que me tenha tornado melhor. Peço que seja atencioso comigo, que seja generoso como da última vez, e me diga que somos amigos.
Charles DickensE, assim como as neblinas da manhã haviam se dissipado, quando, há muito tempo, eu deixara a ferraria, as neblinas da noite dissipavam-se agora, e em toda a vasta expansão iluminada que me deixavam avistar, não vi a sombra de uma nova despedida de Estella.
Charles DickensIt's this same habit that confirms some of us, who are capable of better things, in Lucifer's own pride and stubbornness - that confirms and deepens others of us in villainy - more of us in indifference - that hardens us from day to day, according to the temper of our clay, like images, and leaves us as susceptible as images to new impressions and convictions.
Charles DickensIt is a dreadful thing to wait and watch for the approach of death; to know that hope is gone, and recovery impossible; and to sit and count the dreary hours through long, long, nights - such nights as only watchers by the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to hear the dearest secrets of the heart, the pent-up, hidden secrets of many years, poured forth by the unconscious helpless being before you; and to think how little the reserve, and cunning of a whole life will avail, when fever and delirium tear off the mask at last. Strange tales have been told in the wanderings of dying men; tales so full of guilt and crime, that those who stood by the sick person's couch have fled in horror and affright, lest they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw; and many a wretch has died alone, raving of deeds, the very name of which, has driven the boldest man away.
("The Drunkard's Death")
Tags: dying deathbed dying-last-words deathbed-confession
Keep still, you little devil, or I'll cut your throat!
Charles DickensTags: the-villain-who-we-come-to-love
from the days when it was always summer in Eden,to these days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a man has invariably gone one way Charles Darnay’s way the way of the love of a woman
Charles DickensTags: inspirational-love
All the people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough, irregular stones of the street, pointing every way, and designed, one might have thought, expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little pools; these were surrounded, each by its own jostling group or crowd, according to its size. Some men kneeled down, made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, or tried to help women, who bent over their shoulders, to sip, before the wine had all run out between their fingers. Others, men and women, dipped in the puddles with little mugs of mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women’s heads, which were squeezed dry into infants’ mouths; others made small mud-embankments, to stem the wine as it ran; others, directed by lookers-on up at high windows, darted here and there, to cut off little streams of wine that started away in new directions; others devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed pieces of the cask, licking, and even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager relish. There was no drainage to carry off the wine, and not only did it all get taken up, but so much mud got taken up along with it, that there might have been a scavenger in the street, if anybody acquainted with it could have believed in such a miraculous presence.
Charles DickensIf a man would commit an inexpiable offence against any society, large or small, let him be successful. They will forgive any crime except that.
Charles DickensHe says, no varnish can hide the grain of the wood, and that the more varnish you put on, the more the grain will express itself.
Charles DickensCouldn't something temporary be done with a teapot?
Charles Dickens« first previous
Page 93 of 111.
next last »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.