Are there no prisons?.

Dickens writes that an event, "began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support it, dies away of itself..

It was very dark; but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud which shone with a lurid light, like monstrous heaps of copper that had been heated….

May I tell you why it seems to me a good thing for us to remember wrong that has been done us? That we may forgive it..

The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; bu….

I confess I have yet to learn that a lesson of the purest good may not be drawn from the vilest evil..

Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrils carry the day's wine to La Guillotine..

... the woman who grows up with the idea that she is simply to be an amiable animal, to be caressed and coaxed, is invariably a bitterly disappointed….

Christmas is a time in which, of all times in the year, the memory of every remediable sorrow, wrong, and trouble in the world around us, should be a….

Accidents will occur in the best regulated families..

It has always been my opinion since I first possessed such a thing as an opinion, that the man who knows only one subject is next tiresome to the man….

Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own..

Why then we should drop into poetry..

The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lac….

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green airs and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping,….

Procrastination is the thief of time, collar him..

And what about the cash, my existence's jewel?.

It was a murky confusion — here and there blotted with a color like the color of the smoke from damp fuel — of flying clouds tossed up into most rema….

At last, however, he began to think -- as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what oug….

Now I am in the garden at the back . . . a very preserve of butterflies as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate . . . where the fruit cluster….

I will live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within me..