Character: Charles Dickens

This morning, I thought I knew everything about the world. Now I know I just started to learn.

- Sir, we're closed.
- Nonsense! Since when the funeral home closed in the evenings? People do not die on schedule.

- My books. Doctor, they will be read?
Yes.
- Long?
Always.

An old joke - not bad, although plausible, a young Irish gentleman on the question of whether he knows how to play the violin, replied that nothing in this no doubt, but to say do not dare, because never tried. ... Gentlemen, it only proves the validity of the old rule: one never knows what he's capable of, until then, until you check on the case.

Mr. Jinks went in himself, for it was the only place he could go.

- I will play as I see fit, no matter what. - She proudly raised her head, and her cheeks began to flush.
"Death is inevitable, may death, may benefit," he recited Dickens. He again could not refrain from hypocrisy. <...>
Ellen didn't care, she didn't even hear what said Dickens. She looked at his hands, when he was reciting. So raises his wings a wild bird trapped in a cage.

Thoughts, confused talking, and then began to fly like sparks from a fire; one word led to another, and on paper flowed phrase. He knew that was the wrong war, revolution, conspiracy, love relationship and that's the way books were written. Nevertheless, Dickens could not get rid of something that had verbal expressions. His soul was torn from the untold.

Seemed to work devouring his soul. Talent or genius isn't that they made it hard to bail out themselves without reserve? It was like excavations, which he will continue until, until you come across a skeleton.

After weighing his chances, he realized that they had not. Something broke between them, and it was impossible to correct by word or deed. All this is painfully perceived by the household. It seemed that bickering echoed as infection - squabbles between boys and girls, between older and younger, between the governess and servants, as if the house settled evil, destructive spirit, and even the furniture refused to prop up the wall. It was an endless misery which it was impossible to stop.

The most terrible feeling of hopelessness in this life can be caused by only a relationship with a woman!

We all suffer from insatiable appetites and desires. But only a barbarian would do anything just to satisfy them.

And you know, so attractive is the Arctic? <...> There are no women!

The truth is the fog in which one sees the heavenly host and the other is a flying elephant.