Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.

"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken voice. "It was the salmon."

He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was a ridge of ploughed land, with a plough upon it where it had been left last night when the horses were unyoked; beyond, a quiet coppice-wood, in which many leaves of burning red and golden yellow still remained upon the trees. Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the sun rose bright, placid, and beautiful.

Marley was dead: to begin with.

The word of a gentleman is as good as his bond — sometimes better; as in the present case, where his bond might prove but a doubtful sort of security.

To close the eyes, and give a seemly comfort to the apparel of the dead, is poverty's holiest touch of nature.

Are there no prisons?