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Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
“Never imagine anything. Have no imagination at all.” “I stand corrected; do you suppose—you go so far as to suppose, sometimes?”
The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attendance upon Monseigneur.
“It is extraordinary to me,” said he, “that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in the way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses. See! Give him that.”
“Detestation of the high is the involuntary homage of the low.”
“To the eye it is fair enough, here; but seen in its integrity, under the sky, and by the daylight, it is a crumbling tower of waste, mismanagement, extortion, debt, mortgage, oppression, hunger, nakedness, and suffering.”
He had naturally repressed much, and some revulsion might have been expected in him when the occasion for repression was gone.
Psychoanalytic Analysis of Mr. Manette
no doubt it relieved his pain so much, by substituting the perplexity of the fingers for the perplexity of the brain, and by substituting, as he became more practised, the ingenuity of the hands, for the ingenuity of the mental torture;
Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years.
Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate,
He was happy in the return he had made her, he was recompensed for his suffering, he was proud of his strength. “You must not be weak, my
How does she look?” “Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.”
It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
“Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. We shall meet again, where the weary are at rest!”
“Now that you have come, I think you will do something to help mamma, something to save papa! O, look at her, dear Carton! Can you, of all the people who love her, bear to see her so?”
the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away.
“Are you dying for him?” she whispered. “And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.” “O you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?” “Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.”
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
