"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."
"The bright, frosty day declined as they walked and spoke together. The sun dipped in the river far behind them, and the old city lay red before them, as their walk drew to a close. The moaning water cast its seaweed duskily at their feet, when they turned to leave its margin; and the rooks hovered above them with hoarse cries, darker splashes in the darkening air."
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Source: Charles Dickens (1870). “The Mystery of Edwin Drood”, p.103
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