Ningún hombre sabe, hasta que llega el momento, qué profundidades hay en su interior. Para algunos hombres no llega nunca; dejémoslos descansar y dem… - Charles Dickens

My sister's bringing up had made me sensitive. In the little world in which children have their existence whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt, as injustice. It may be only small injustice that the child can be exposed to; but the child is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter. Within myself, I had sustained, from my babyhood, a perpetual conflict with injustice. I had known, from the time when I could speak, that my sister, in her capricious and violent coercion, was unjust to me. I had cherished a profound conviction that her bringing me up by hand, gave her no right to bring me up by jerks. Through all my punishments, disgraces, fasts and vigils, and other penitential performances, I had nursed this assurance; and to my communing so much with it, in a solitary and unprotected way, I in great part refer the fact that I was morally timid and very sensitive.

"We went our several ways," said Lady Dedlock, "and had little in common even before we agreed to differ. It is to be regretted, I suppose, but it could not be helped."

إنه كان أحسن الأزمان وكان أسوأ الأزمان .. كان عصر الحكمة وكان عصر الجهالة .. كان عهد اليقين والإيمان وكان عهد الحيرة والشكوك .. كان أوان النور وكان أوان الظلام .. كان ربيع الرجاء وكان زمهرير القنوط .. بين أيدينا كل شيء وليس في أيدينا أي شيء .. وسبيلنا جميعا إلى سماء عليين، وسبيلنا جميعا إلى قرار الجحيم. تلك أيام كأيامنا هذه التي يوصينا الصاخبون من ثقاتها أن نأخذها على علاتها، والا نذكرها إلا بصيغة المبالغة فيما اشتملت عليه من طيبات ومن آفات // في زمن الثورة الفرنسية