And thus ever by day and night, under the sun and under the stars, climbing the dusty hills and toiling along the weary plains, journeying by land and journeying by sea, coming and going so strangely, to meet and to act and react on one another, move all we restless travellers through the pilgrimage of life.
Interpretation
Life is a journey filled with challenges and interactions with others.
In this quote, Charles Dickens reflects on the journey of life as a continuous pilgrimage, where humans, as restless travelers, navigate through various experiences and interactions under both the sun and stars. The imagery of climbing hills and toiling along plains symbolizes the struggles and efforts we all face, while the idea of meeting and acting upon each other emphasizes the interconnectedness of our journeys.
In practice
In a speech about resilience, one might say, 'As Charles Dickens put it, we are all restless travelers through the pilgrimage of life.'
I recollected one story there was in the village, how that on a certain night in the year (it might be that very night for anything I knew), all the dead people came out of the ground and sat at the heads of their own graves till morning.
A silent look of affection and regard when all other eyes are turned coldly away-the consciousness that we possess the sympathy and affection of one being when all others have deserted us-is a hold, a stay, a comfort, in the deepest affliction, which no wealth could purchase, or power bestow.
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before--more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.
There are not a few among the disciples of charity who require, in their vocation, scarcely less excitement than the votaries of pleasure in theirs.
You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer,” said Miss Pross, in her breathing. “Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman.
Christmas is a poor excuse every 25th of December to pick a man's pockets.
I’m on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend.
Life is so uncertain: you never know what could happen. One way to deal with that is to keep your pajamas washed.
Of the widow's countless death-duties there is really just one that matters: on the first anniversary of her husband's death the widow should think I kept myself alive.
There is no more fatal blunderer than he who consumes the greater part of his life getting his living.
A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear, A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet or relief, In word, or sigh, or tear.
And life goes on, which seems kind of strange and cruel when you're watching someone die. But there's a joy and an abundance of everything, like information and laughter and summer weather and so many stories.
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