I Verily Believe That Her Not Remembering

And Thus Ever By Day And Night, Under The Sun And Under The Stars, Climbing The Dusty Hills And Toiling Along The Weary Plains, Journeying By Land And Journeying By Sea, Coming And Going So Strangely, To Meet And To Act And React On One Another, Move All We Restless Travellers Through The Pilgrimage Of Life.

A Wonderful Fact To Reflect Upon, That Every Human Creature Is Constituted To Be That Profound Secret And Mystery To Every Other.

But Tears Were Not The Things To Find Their Way To Mr. Bumble’s Soul; His Heart Was Waterproof. Like Washable Beaver Hats That Improve With Rain, His Nerves Were Rendered Stouter And More Vigorous, By Showers Of Tears, Which, Being Tokens Of Weakness, And So Far Tacit Admissions Of His Own Power, Pleased And Exalted Him.

Procrastination Is The Thief Of Time, Collar Him.

And What An Example Of The Power Of Dress Young Oliver Twist Was! Wrapped In The Blanket Which Had Hitherto Formed His Only Covering, He Might Have Been The Child Of A Nobleman Or A Beggar;—it Would Have Been Hard For The Haughtiest Stranger To Have Fixed His Station In Society. But Now He Was Enveloped In The Old Calico Robes, That Had Grown Yellow In The Same Service; He Was Badged And Ticketed, And Fell Into His Place At Once—a Parish Child—the Orphan Of A Workhouse—the Humble, Half-starved Drudge—to Be Cuffed And Buffeted Through The World, Despised By All, And Pitied By None.