Spring Is The Time Of Year When

It Is An Exquisite And Beautiful Thing In Our Nature, That, When The Heart Is Touched And Softened By Some Tranquil Happiness Or Affectionate Feeling, The Memory Of The Dead Comes Over It Most Powerfully And Irresistibly. It Would Seem Almost As Though Our Better Thoughts And Sympathies Were Charms, In Virtue Of Which The Soul Is Enabled To Hold Some Vague And Mysterious Intercourse With The Spirits Of Those Whom We Loved In Life. Alas! How Often And How Long May These Patient Angels Hover Around Us, Watching For The Spell Which Is So Soon Forgotten!

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times, It Was The Age Of Wisdom, It Was The Age Of Foolishness, It Was The Epoch Of Belief, It Was The Epoch Of Incredulity, It Was The Season Of Light, It Was The Season Of Darkness, It Was The Spring Of Hope, It Was The Winter Of Despair.

You Are Too Young To Know How The World Changes Everyday,' Said Mrs Creakle, 'and How The People In It Pass Away. But We All Have To Learn It, David; Some Of Us When We Are Young, Some Of Us When We Are Old, Some Of Us At All Times In Our Lives.

The Young Woman Who Brought Me Acquainted With Captain Murderer Had A Fiendish Enjoyment Of My Terrors, And Used To Begin, I Remember - As A Sort Of Introductory Overture - By Clawing The Air With Both Hands, And Uttering A Long Low Hollow Groan. So Acutely Did I Suffer From This Ceremony In Combination With This Infernal Captain, That I Sometimes Used To Plead I Thought I Was Hardly Strong Enough And Old Enough To Hear The Story Again Just Yet.

The Meagre Lighthouse All In White, Haunting The Seaboard, As If It Were The Ghost Of An Edifice That Had Once Had Colour And Rotundity, Dripped Melancholy Tears After Its Late Buffeting By The Waves.