If You Could See My Legs When

Great Men Are Seldom Over-scrupulous In The Arrangement Of Their Attire.

Black Are The Brooding Clouds And Troubled The Deep Waters, When The Sea Of Thought, First Heaving From A Calm, Gives Up Its Dead

Dombey Sat In The Corner Of The Darkened Room In The Great Arm-chair By The Bedside, And Son Lay Tucked Up Warm In A Little Basket Bedstead, Carefully Disposed On A Low Settee Immediately In Front Of The Fire And Close To It, As If His Constitution Were Analogous To That Of A Muffin, And It Was Essential To Toast Him Brown While He Was Very New.

... Arthur Gride, Whose Bleared Eyes Gloated Only Over The Outward Beauties, And Were Blind To The Spirit Which Reigned Within, Evinced - A Fantastic Kind Of Warmth Certainly, But Not Exactly That Kind Of Warmth Of Feeling Which The Contemplation Of Virtue Usually Inspires.

I Had Seen The Damp Lying On The Outside Of My Little Window, As If Some Goblin Had Been Crying There All Night, And Using The Window For A Pocket-handkerchief.