A Tale of Two Cities

In the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the sun itself is—as the light called human life is—at its coming and its going.

pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as if it were the finger of Fate.

Fathers and mothers who had had their full share in the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children; and lovers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and hoped.

Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms.

mail.

So entirely had it lost the life and resonance of the human voice, that it affected the senses like a once beautiful colour faded away into a poor weak stain. So sunken and suppressed it was, that it was like a voice underground. So expressive it was, of a hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller, wearied out by lonely wandering in a w

Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind.

Ogre that he was, he spoke like an epicure.

Physical diseases, engendered in the vices and neglects of men, will seize on victims of all degrees; and the frightful moral disorder, born of unspeakable suffering, intolerable oppression, and heartless indifference, smote equally without distinction.