Charles Dickens

Quadruped lions are said to be savage, only when they are hungry; biped lions are rarely sulky longer than when their appetite for distinction remains unappeased.

Subdue your appetites, my dears, and you've conquered human nature.

You're a amiably-disposed young man, Sir, I don't think.

"Eccentricities of genius, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "You may retire."

Tongue —, well that's a wery good thing when it ain't a woman's.

Kent, sir — everybody knows Kent — apples, cherries, hops, and women.

"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken voice. "It was the salmon."

"Think, Sir!" replied Mr. Weller; "why, I think he's the wictim o' connubiality, as Blue Beard's domestic chaplain said, vith a tear of pity, ven he buried him."

There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little charitable commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat.

I took a good deal o’ pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streets when he was wery young, and shift for his-self. It’s the only way to make a boy sharp, sir.

Did it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that drowning would be happiness and peace?

There was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled sportively before it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide.