"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."
"They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept before a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, hay-stacks, objects of every kind they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaring waters suddenly let loose. Still the noise of pursuit grew louder, and still my uncle could hear the young lady wildly screaming, "Faster! Faster!""
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Source: Charles Dickens (1838). “The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club”, p.339
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