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Posts Tagged ‘Dickens’

Ice

In зима, фотки, people, photography, photomanipulation, plants, winter on February 16, 2013 at 08:27

Behind the #mask of #ice that #people wear, there beats a heart of fire. -P. Coelho #face #grass #weeds #frost #all_shots #winter #lawn #лицо #трава #иней #superimposed #edit #Dickens #weird #linandara_plants #linandara_people #instamillion #picoftheday #strange

In Uncategorized on February 16, 2013 at 08:23

Behind the #mask of #ice that #people wear, there beats a heart of fire. -P. Coelho #face #grass #weeds #frost #all_shots #winter #lawn #лицо #трава #иней #superimposed #edit #Dickens #weird #linandara_plants #linandara_people #instamillion #picoftheday #strange

In Uncategorized on November 14, 2011 at 08:18

For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round
a building of that sort, and moaning as it goes; and of trying,
with its unseen hand, the windows and the doors; and seeking out
some crevices by which to enter. And when it has got in; as one
not finding what it seeks, whatever that may be, it wails and howls
to issue forth again: and not content with stalking through the
aisles, and gliding round and round the pillars, and tempting the
deep organ, soars up to the roof, and strives to rend the rafters:
then flings itself despairingly upon the stones below, and passes,
muttering, into the vaults. Anon, it comes up stealthily, and
creeps along the walls, seeming to read, in whispers, the
Inscriptions sacred to the Dead. At some of these, it breaks out
shrilly, as with laughter; and at others, moans and cries as if it
were lamenting. It has a ghostly sound too, lingering within the
altar; where it seems to chaunt, in its wild way, of Wrong and
Murder done, and false Gods worshipped, in defiance of the Tables
of the Law, which look so fair and smooth, but are so flawed and
broken. Ugh! Heaven preserve us, sitting snugly round the fire!
It has an awful voice, that wind at Midnight, singing in a church!

But, high up in the steeple! There the foul blast roars and
whistles! High up in the steeple, where it is free to come and go
through many an airy arch and loophole, and to twist and twine
itself about the giddy stair, and twirl the groaning weathercock,
and make the very tower shake and shiver! High up in the steeple,
where the belfry is, and iron rails are ragged with rust, and
sheets of lead and copper, shrivelled by the changing weather,
crackle and heave beneath the unaccustomed tread; and birds stuff
shabby nests into corners of old oaken joists and beams; and dust
grows old and grey; and speckled spiders, indolent and fat with
long security, swing idly to and fro in the vibration of the bells,
and never loose their hold upon their thread-spun castles in the
air, or climb up sailor-like in quick alarm, or drop upon the
ground and ply a score of nimble legs to save one life! High up in
the steeple of an old church, far above the light and murmur of the
town and far below the flying clouds that shadow it, is the wild
and dreary place at night: and high up in the steeple of an old
church, dwelt the Chimes I tell of.

The Chimes, by Charles Dickens

In Uncategorized on November 14, 2011 at 08:10

…the heavy bell of St. Paul’s tolled for the death of another day. Midnight had come upon the crowded city. The palace, the night-cellar, the jail, the madhouse: the chambers of birth and death, of health and sickness, the rigid face of the corpse and the calm sleep of the child: midnight was upon them all.

Charles Dickens: Oliver Twist

In Uncategorized on November 7, 2011 at 15:08

Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colors are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision.

Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

In Uncategorized on October 26, 2011 at 08:29

‘He’s a rum dog. Don’t he look fierce at any strange cove that laughs or sings when he’s in company!’ pursued the Dodger. ‘Won’t he growl at all, when he hears a fiddle playing! And don’t he hate other dogs as ain’t of his breed! Oh, no!’

‘He’s an out-and-out Christian,’ said Charley.

This was merely intended as a tribute to the animal’s abilities, but it was an appropriate remark in another sense, if Master Bates had only known it; for there are a good many ladies and gentlemen, claiming to be out-and-out Christians, between whom, and Mr. Sikes’ dog, there exist strong and singular points of resemblance.

Charles Dickens

Oliver Twist

Fellow-passengers

In books, moral issues, religion on September 30, 2010 at 19:18

Reading Dickens. Don’t want ever call anybody a heretic. All of us make mistakes. Constantly. Don’t want to call anybody evil. There is good in every person. And we all are just “fellow-passengers to the grave“…

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