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 wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote emphasizes the inherent mystery within each individual and the secrets that each person carries, reflecting on the complexity of human relationships.
In this quote, Charles Dickens highlights the idea that every person is a unique and intricate mystery to others, even in the midst of a bustling city. As one enters a great city at night, surrounded by countless homes filled with untold stories and hidden emotions, it becomes clear that each person holds their own individual secrets. This profound reflection invites us to consider the depth of human experience and the unseen connections that exist between individuals, urging us to appreciate the complexity of life and relationships.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a discussion about human connection, this quote can be used to highlight the complexity of people's inner lives.
More from Charles Dickens
All quotes →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.
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