Charles Dickens

Man blames fate for other accidents, but feels personally responsible when he makes a hole in one

Man blames fate for other accidents, but feels personally responsible when he makes a hole in one

Horatio looked handsomely miserable, like Hamlet slipping on a
piece of orange-peel.

Horatio looked handsomely miserable, like Hamlet slipping on a
piece of orange-peel.

Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures read more

Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are!

Which fiddle-strings is weakness to expredge my nerves this night!

Which fiddle-strings is weakness to expredge my nerves this night!

"Never see . . . a dead post-boy, did you?" inquired
Sam. . . . "No," rejoined Bob, "I read more

"Never see . . . a dead post-boy, did you?" inquired
Sam. . . . "No," rejoined Bob, "I never did." "No!" rejoined Sam
triumphantly. "Nor never vill; and there's another thing that no
man never see, and that's a dead donkey."