"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 night crept on apace, the moon went down, the stars grew pale and dim, and morning, cold as they, slowly approached. Then, from behind a distant hill, the noble sun rose up, driving the mists in phantom shapes before it, and clearing the earth of their ghostly forms till darkness came again."
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Source: Charles Dickens (1872). “A Cyclopedia of the Best Thoughts of Charles Dickens”, p.333
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