"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."
"Of all the ruinous and desolate places my uncle had ever beheld, this was the most so. It looked as if it had once been a large house of entertainment; but the roof had fallen in, in many places, and the stairs were steep, rugged, and broken. There was a huge fire-place in the room into which they walked, and the chimney was blackened with smoke; but no warm blaze lighted it up now. The white feathery dust of burnt wood was still strewed over the hearth, but the stove was cold, and all was dark and gloomy."
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Source: Charles Dickens (1870). “The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club”, p.429
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