Ch. Dickens – Bleak House

 Call the death by any name your Highness will, attribute it to whom you will, or say it might have been prevented how you will, it is the same death eternally–inborn, inbred, engendered in the corrupted humours of the vicious body itself, and that only–spontaneous combustion, and none other of all the deaths that can be died.

Ch.Dickens – Bleak House

He was very fond of reading the papers, very fond of making fancy-sketches with a pencil, very fond of nature, very fond of art. All he asked of society was to let him live. THAT wasn’t much. His wants were few. Give him the papers, conversation, music, mutton, coffee, landscape, fruit in the season, a few sheets of Bristol-board, and a little claret, and he asked no more. He was a mere child in the world, but he didn’t cry for the moon.