"A man is lucky if he is the first love of a woman. A woman is lucky if she is the last love of a man."
"A moment, and its glory was no more. The sun went down beneath the long dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up in the west an airy city, wall heaped on wall, and battlement on battlement; the light was all withdrawn; the shining church turned cold and dark; the stream forgot to smile; the birds were silent; and the gloom of winter dwelt on everything."
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Source: Charles Dickens (2015). “Martin Chuzzlewit”, p.14, Booklassic
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