Books
Charles Dickens,Golden Deer Classics

Charles Dickens: The Complete Christmas Books and Stories (The Greatest Writers of All Time)

  • Elena Proninahas quoted7 years ago
    Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.
  • Elena Proninahas quoted7 years ago
    as if the Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.
  • Elena Proninahas quoted7 years ago
    He carried his own low temperature always about with him;
  • Нарине Арутюнянhas quoted7 years ago
    with his sword of sharpness, and his shoes of swiftness!
  • Нарине Арутюнянhas quoted7 years ago
    by the hair of their heads.
  • Нарине Арутюнянhas quoted7 years ago
    books, in themselves, at first, but many of them, and with deliciously smooth covers of bright red or green. What fat black letters to begin with! “A was an archer, and shot at a frog.” Of course he was. He was an apple-pie also, and there he is! He was a good many things in his time, was A, and so were most of his friends, except X, who had so little versatility, that I never knew him to get beyond Xerxes or Xantippe—like Y, who was always confined to a Yacht or a Yew Tree; and Z condemned for ever to be a Zebra or a Zany.
  • Нарине Арутюнянhas quoted7 years ago
    I observe in this tree the singular property that it appears to grow downward towards the earth—I look into my youngest Christmas recollections!
  • Нарине Арутюнянhas quoted7 years ago
    what do we all remember best upon the branches of the Christmas Tree of our own young Christmas days, by which we climbed to real life.
  • Нарине Арутюнянhas quoted7 years ago
    a fascination which I do not care to resist
  • Нарине Арутюнянhas quoted7 years ago
    banners; there were witches standing in enchanted rings of pasteboard, to tell fortunes; there were teetotums, humming-tops, needle-cases, pen-wipers, smelling-bottles, conversation-cards, bouquet-holders; real fruit, made artificially dazzling with gold leaf; imitation apples, pears, and walnuts, crammed with surprises; in short, as a pretty child, before me, delightedly whispered to another pretty child, her bosom friend, “There was everything, and more.” This motley collection of odd objects, clustering on the tree like magic fruit, and flashing back the bright looks directed towards it from every side—some of the diamond-eyes admiring it were hardly on a level with the table, and a few were languishing in timid wonder on the bosoms of pretty mothers, aunts, and nurses—made a lively realisation of the fancies of childhood; and set me thinking how all the trees that grow and all the things that come into existence on the earth, have their wild adornments at that well-remembered time.
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