"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 sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the spirit to pour."
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Source: Charles Dickens (1838). “The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club”, p.347
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