Indeed the worthy housewife was of such a capricious nature, that she not only attained a higher pitch of genius than Macbeth, in respect of her ability to be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, loyal and neutral in an instant, but would sometimes ring the changes backwards and forwards on all possible moods and flights in one short quarter of an hour; performing, as it were, a kind of triple bob major on the peal of instruments in the female belfry, with a skilfulness and rapidity of execution that astonished all who heard her.
A smattering of everything, and a knowledge of nothing. - Charles Dickens
A smattering of everything, and a knowledge of nothing.
- Charles Dickens
Happiness is a gift and the trick is not to expect it, but to delight in it when it comes. - Charles Dickens
Happiness is a gift and the trick is not to expect it, but to delight in it when it comes.
A very little key will open a very heavy door. - Charles Dickens
A very little key will open a very heavy door.
Do all the good you can and make as little fuss about it as possible. - Charles Dickens
Do all the good you can and make as little fuss about it as possible.
My advice is to never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time. - Charles Dickens
My advice is to never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time.
I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape. - Charles Dickens
I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape.
No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it to anyone else. - Charles Dickens
No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it to anyone else.
Troubles are exceedingly gregarious in their nature, and flying in flocks are apt to perch capriciously. - Charles Dickens
Troubles are exceedingly gregarious in their nature, and flying in flocks are apt to perch capriciously.
Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are! - Charles Dickens
Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are!
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