You Have Been The Last

"you Are A Boy," Said Mr. Dombey, Suddenly And Almost Fiercely; "and What You Think Of, Or Affect To Think Of, Is Of Little Consequence. You Have Done Well, Sir. Don't Undo It."

Many Merry Christmases, Many Happy New Years. Unbroken Friendships, Great Accumulations Of Cheerful Recollections And Affections On Earth, And Heaven For Us All.

It Is When Our Budding Hopes Are Nipped Beyond Recovery By Some Rough Wind, That We Are The Most Disposed To Picture To Ourselves What Flowers They Might Have Borne, If They Had Flourished . . .

Château And Hut, Stone Face And Dangling Figure, The Red Stain On The Stone Floor, And The Pure Water In The Village Well-thousands Of Acres Of Land-a Whole Province Of France-all France Itself-lay Under The Night Sky, Concentrated Into A Faint Hairbreadth Line. So Does A Whole World, With All Its Greatnesses And Littlenesses, Lie In A Twinkling Star.

My Dear If You Could Give Me A Cup Of Tea To Clear My Muddle Of A Head I Should Better Understand Your Affairs.