"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."
"Its very pulse, if I may use the word, was like no other clock. It did not mark the flight of every moment with a gentle second stroke, as though it would check old Time, and have him stay his pace in pity, but measured it with one sledge-hammer beat, as if its business were to crush the seconds as they came trooping on, and remorselessly to clear a path before the Day of Judgment."
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Source: Charles Dickens (1871). “The Mystery of Edwin Drood and Other Pieces”, p.225
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