My Hair Stands On End At The

Christmas Time! That Man Must Be A Misanthrope Indeed, In Whose Breast Something Like A Jovial Feeling Is Not Roused - In Whose Mind Some Pleasant Associations Are Not Awakened - By The Recurrence Of Christmas.

....that The Mounds Of Ices, And The Bowls Of Mint-julep And Sherry Cobbler They Make In These Latitudes, Are Refreshments Never To Be Thought Of Afterwards, In Summer, By Those Who Would Preserve Contented Minds.

All Partings Foreshadow The Great Final One.

There Are People Enough To Tread Upon Me In My Lowly State, Without My Doing Outrage To Their Feelings By Possessing Learning. Learning Ain't For Me. A Person Like Myself Had Better Not Aspire. If He Is To Get On In Life, He Must Get On 'umbly, Master Copperfield!

Grief Never Mended No Broken Bones.