"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."
"For a long time, no village girl would dress her hair or bosom with the sweetest flower from that field of death: and after many a year had come and gone, the berries growing there, were still believed to leave too deep a stain upon the hand that plucked them."
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Source: Charles Dickens (1852). “Christmas Books”, p.160
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