"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 earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yesterday; the clumps of dark trees, its giant plumes of funeral feathers, waving sadly to and fro: all hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the swift clouds that skim across the moon, and the cautious wind, as, creeping after them upon the ground, it stops to listen, and goes rustling on, and stops again, and follows, like a savage on the trail."
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Source: Charles Dickens (1844). “The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit”, p.186, Chapman and Hall
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