Take A Little Timecount Five-and-twenty,tattycoram.

The Boy Was Lying, Fast Asleep, On A Rude Bed Upon The Floor; So Pale With Anxiety, And Sadness, And The Closeness Of His Prison, That He Looked Like Death; Not Death As It Shews In Shroud And Coffin, But In The Guise It Wears When Life Has Just Departed; When A Young And Gentle Spirit Has, But An Instant, Fled To Heaven: And The Gross Air Of The World Has Not Had Time To Breathe Upon The Changing Dust It Hallowed.

Please, Sir, I Want Some More.

... Natural Affections And Instincts, My Dear Sir, Are The Most Beautiful Of The Almighty's Works, But Like Other Beautiful Works Of His, They Must Be Reared And Fostered, Or It Is As Natural That They Should Be Wholly Obscured, And That New Feelings Should Usurp Their Place, As It Is That The Sweetest Productions Of The Earth, Left Untended, Should Be Choked With Weeds And Briers.

One Always Begins To Forgive A Place As Soon As It's Left Behind.

Anything For The Quick Life, As The Man Said When He Took The Situation At The Lighthouse.