Life ain't all beer and skittles, and more's the pity; but what's the odds, so long as you're happy?

The wretcheder one is, the more one smokes; and the more one smokes, the wretcheder one gets-a vicious circle.

A little work, a little play, To keep us going - and so, good-day!

I doubt if Dickens did, especially his women-his pretty women-Mrs. Dombey, Florence, Dora, Agnes, Ruth Pinch, Kate Nickleby, little Emily-we know them all through Hablot Browne alone-and none of them present any very marked physical characteristics. They are sweet and graceful, neither tall nor short; they have a pretty droop in their shoulders, and are very ladylike; sometimes they wear ringlets, sometimes not, and each would do very easily for the other.

Happiness is like time and space-we make and measure it ourselves; it is as fancy, as big, as little, as you please, just a thing of contrasts and comparisons.

Lovely female shapes are terrible complicators of the difficulties and dangers of this earthly life, especially for their owners.

The best years of a man's life are after he is forty. A man at forty has ceased to hunt the moon.