"Do not repine, my friends," said Mr. Pecksniff, tenderly. "Do not weep for me. It is chronic."

The more man knows of man, the better for the common brotherhood among men.

I know nothing of philosophical philanthropy. But I know what I have seen, and what I have looked in the face in this world here, where I find myself. And I tell you this, my friend, that there are people (men and women both, unfortunately) who have no good in them-none. That there are people whom it is necessary to detest without compromise. That there are people who must be dealt with as enemies of the human race. That there are people who have no human heart, and who must be crushed like savage beasts and cleared out of the way.

The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day.

... when the locked door opens, and there comes in a young woman, deadly pale, and with long fair hair, who glides to the fire, and sits down in the chair we have left there, wringing her hands.

By the by, who ever knew a man who never read or wrote neither who hadn't got some small back parlour which he would call a study!

Mr. Cruncher... always spoke of the year of our Lord as Anna Dominoes: apparently under the impression that the Christian era dated from the invention of a popular game, by a lady who had bestowed her name upon it.