Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.

"I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and all of you," said Mr. Mell, glancing round the room, and again patting me gently on the shoulders. "James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to be ashamed of what you have done today. At present I would prefer to see you anything rather than a friend, to me, or to anyone in whom I feel an interest."

She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her 'Ode to an Expiring Frog,' sir.

... she indulged in melancholy - that cheapest and most accessible of luxuries.

Old Marley was dead as a doornail... The wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile.

"You see," said Mr. Toots, "what I wanted in a wife was - in short, was sense. Money, Feeder, I had. Sense I - I had not, particularly."

A little learning is a dangerous thing, but a little patronage more so.