"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 wide stare stared itself out for one while; the Sun went down in a red, green, golden glory; the stars came out in the heavens, and the fire-flies mimicked them in the lower air, as men may feebly imitate the goodness of a better order of beings; the long dusty roads and the interminable plains were in repose-and so deep a hush was on the sea, that it scarcely whispered of the time when it shall give up its dead."
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Source: CHARLES DICKENS (1867). “LITTLE DORRIT”, p.10
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