It is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself |
It is required of every man, the ghost returned, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death." |
It is well for a man to respect his own vocation whatever it is and to think himself bound to uphold it and to claim for it the respect it deserves |
It is when our budding hopes are nipped beyond recovery by some rough wind, that we are the most disposed to picture to ourselves what flowers they might have borne, if they had flourished . . . |
It matters little, she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve." |
It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens down the temper; so cry away. |
It was a good thing to have a couple of thousand people all rigid and frozen together, in the palm of one's hand. |
It was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One! |
It was as true as taxes is. And nothing's truer than them. |
It was no fancy of mine about his hands, I observed; for he frequently ground the palms against each other as if to squeeze them dry and warm, besides often wiping them, in a stealthy way, on his pocket-handkerchief |
It was not a bosom to repose upon, but it was a capital bosom to hang jewels upon. |
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. |
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of |
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. |
It was understood that nothing of a tender nature could possibly be confided to old Barley, by reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any subject more psychological than gout, rum, and purser's stores. |