I Will Die Here Where I Have

Every Idiot Who Goes About With A 'merry Christmas' On His Lips Should Be Boiled With His Own Pudding, And Buried With A Stake Of Holly Through His Heart.

Jarndyce And Jarndyce Drones On. This Scarecrow Of A Suit, Has, In Course Of Time, Become So Complicated That No Man Alive Knows What It Means. The Parties To It Understand It Least; But It Has Been Observed That No Two Chancery Lawyers Can Talk About It For Five Minutes, Without Coming To Total Disagreement As To All The Premises.

Most Men Unconsciously Judge The World From Themselves, And It Will Be Very Generally Found That Those Who Sneer Habitually At Human Nature, And Affect To Despise It, Are Among Its Worst And Least Pleasant Samples.

Dombey Sat In The Corner Of The Darkened Room In The Great Arm-chair By The Bedside, And Son Lay Tucked Up Warm In A Little Basket Bedstead, Carefully Disposed On A Low Settee Immediately In Front Of The Fire And Close To It, As If His Constitution Were Analogous To That Of A Muffin, And It Was Essential To Toast Him Brown While He Was Very New.

But I Am Sure That I Have Always Thought Of Christmas Time, When It Has Come Round...as A Good Time; A Kind, Forgiving, Charitable, Pleasant Time; The Only Time I Know Of, In The Long Calendar Of The Year, When Men And Women Seem By One Consent To Open Their Shut-up Hearts Freely.