.h"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only " A Tale of Two Cities
Hello dear friends and how are you ? Today we're gonna sneak inside the English literature world and particulary the world of The greatest novelist of the victorian era (Charles Dickens ) the friend of the poor !
For Every reader whose fond of literature and specifically Dickens's works , I dedicated this thread to be used as a reference for Charles Dickens's works in our forum
to get knowledge as well as entertainment....
English novelist, generally considered the greatest of the Victorian period. Dickens's works are charactericized by attacks on social evils, unjustice, and hypocrisy. He had also experienced in his youth oppression, when he was forced to end school in early teens and work in a factory. Dickens's lively good, bad and comic characters, such as the cruel miser Scrooge, the aspiring novelist David Copperfield, or the trusting and innocent Mr. Pickwick, have fascinated generations .
Charles Dickens was born in a suburb of Portsmouth named Landport, England on 7th February 1812. His mother was Elizabeth (later Charles used her to form the character of Mrs. Nickleby) and his father was John Dickens (whom Charles depicted as Mr. Micawber in "David Copperfield").
When Charles was two years old, his father moved the family to London then to Chatham two years later, where Charles received some schooling, although he was supposedly already an avid reader.
In 1821, there were reforms in the Navy and John lost his post as clerk in the navy pay office and therefore most of the family income. As a result the family moved again, to Camden Town, London.
Within three years, John Dickens was arrested for debt and was imprisoned in the Marshalsea prison along with the rest of the family except Charles...
At the age of 12 years, Charles was put to work in Warren's Blacking factory situated at Hungerford Market in order to clear some of his father's debts. At first he lodged in Camden and walked four miles to the factory every day, visiting his family at the weekend until they found lodgings for him close to their location.
Nearly four months after his arrest, Charles' father was released from prison and the family returned to Camden Town. Although his mother, Elizabeth, wanted Charles to continue to work at the blacking factory, his father chose to send him to school where he studied until he turned 15.
Charles' first chosen career was as a journalist, he became a free lance reporter at Doctor's Common Courts after working for two years as an office boy for an attorney. He also acted as a parliamentary reporter during the 'Reform Bill' legislation.
In 1834, Charles worked as a reporter for the Morning Chronicle under the pseudonym "Boz" (this name was derived from Moses - Boses - Boz, one of Charles' favourite characters in "Vicar of Wakefield" by Goldsmith). The same year his father was again arrested for debt and Charles, for a second time, helped him out. Later, Charles was frequently requested by his entire family to supply them with financial aid.
The first fictional story that Charles had published appeared in "Monthly Magazine." It was entitled "Dinner at Poplar Walk." 1833. The initial "Sketches by Boz" was published in 1836 (in April that year, Charles and Elizabeth Hogarth married), followed by "The Pickwick Papers". His literary career simply took off from that point and Charles became a full time novelist, his first work being "Oliver Twist".
Much of Charles' work was first published as monthly periodicals Although he began to release a Christmas book on a regular basis, the first of which being "A Christmas Carol," published in 1844 and the last being "The Haunted Man" in 1849.
From 1842, Charles and his family began to travel throughout the world. Initially visiting Canada and the United States. He later travelled to Italy, Switzerland and France.
After his tour of the US and Canada, he published "American Notes" which didn't go down well in the US, being that, at that time, it was a relatively new nation and hadn't developed much of an attitude or sense of humour to anti-slavery. Alternatively it could have been that Charles expressed an offensive attitude towards tobacco chewing, which, by his own account was practiced widely. In 1845, Dickens founded an amateur theatrical company which he continued until the end of his life and was to take up a great deal of his time. He later travelled
with Wilkie Collins and Augustus Egg, the former of which co-wrote the play "The Frozen Deep" with Dickens.
On 8 June 1870, Dickens suffered another stroke at his home, after a full day's work on Edwin Drood. The next day, on 9 June, and five years to the day after the Staplehurst crash, he died at Gad's Hill Place never having regained consciousness. Contrary to his wish to be buried at ٌٌٌRochester cathedral "in an inexpensive, unostentatious, and strictly private manner", he was laid to rest in the Poet's corner of Westminster abbey. A printed epitaph circulated at the time of the funeral reads: "To the Memory of Charles Dickens (England's most popular author) who died at his residence, Higham, near Rochester, Kent, 9 June 1870, aged 58 years. He was a sympathiser with the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed; and by his death, one of England's greatest writers is lost to the world."Dickens's last words, as reported in his obituary in The Times were alleged to have been:f Be natural my children. For the writer that is natural has fullfilled all the rules of art!
How beautiful at eventide
To see the twilight shadows pale,
Steal o'er the landscape, far and wide,
O'er stream and meadow, mound and dale!
How soft is Nature's calm repose
When ev'ning skies their cool dews weep:
The gentlest wind more gently blows,
As if to soothe her in her sleep!
The gay morn breaks,
Mists roll away,
All Nature awakes
To glorious day.
In my breast alone
Dark shadows remain;
The peace it has known
It can never regai
Squire Nortons Song
The child and the old man sat alone
In the quiet, peaceful shade
Of the old green boughs, that had richly grown
In the deep, thick forest glade.
It was a soft and pleasant sound,
That rustling of the oak;
And the gentle breeze played lightly round
As thus the fair boy spoke:-
"Dear father, what can honor be,
Of which I hear men rave?
Field, cell and cloister, land and sea,
The tempest and the grave:
It lives in all, 'tis sought in each,
'Tis never heard or seen:
Now tell me, father, I beseech,
What can this honor mean?"
"It is a name, a name, my child
It lived in other days,
When men were rude, their passions wild,
Their sport, thick battle frays.
When, in armor bright, the warrior bold
Knelt to his lady's eyes:
Beneath the abbey pavement old
That warrior's dust now lies."
"The iron hearts of that old day
Have mouldered in the grave;
And chivalry has passed away,
With knights so true and brave;
The honor, which to them was life,
Throbs in no bosom now;
It only gilds the gambler's strife,
Or decks the worthless vow.
The Song of the Wreck
The wind blew high, the waters raved,
A ship drove on the land,
A hundred human creatures saved
Kneel'd down upon the sand.
Threescore were drown'd, threescore were thrown
Upon the black rocks wild,
And thus among them, left alone,
They found one helpless child.
A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred,
Stood out from all the rest,
And gently laid the lonely head
Upon his honest breast.
And travelling o'er the desert wide
It was a solemn joy,
To see them, ever side by side,
The sailor and the boy.
In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst,
The two were still but one,
Until the strong man droop'd the first
And felt his labors done.
Then to a trusty friend he spake,
"Across the desert wide,
Oh, take this poor boy for my sake!"
And kiss'd the child and died.
Toiling along in weary plight
Through heavy jungle, mire,
These two came later every night
To warm them at the fire.
Until the captain said one day
"O seaman, good and kind,
To save thyself now come away,
And leave the boy behind!"
The child was slumbering near the blaze:
"O captain, let him rest
Until it sinks, when God's own ways
Shall teach us what is best!"
They watch'd the whiten'd, ashy heap,
They touch'd the child in vain;
They did not leave him there asleep,
He never woke again
The Ivy Green
OH, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
That creepeth oer ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim:
And the mouldering dust that years have made
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a stanch old heart has he.
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
To his friend the huge Oak Tree!
And slyly he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,
As he joyously hugs and crawleth round
The rich mould of dead mens graves.
Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,
And nations have scattered been;
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,
From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant in its lonely days,
Shall fatten upon the past:
For the stateliest building man can raise,
Is the Ivys food at last.
Creeping on, where time has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
George Edmunds' Song
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around he here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
How like the hopes of childhood's day,
Thick clust'ring on the bough!
How like those hopes in their decay--
How faded are they now!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
Wither'd leaves, wither'd leaves, that fly before the gale:
Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale,
Of love once true, and friends once kind,
And happy moments fled:
Dispersed by every breath of wind,
Forgotten, changed, or dead!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
Gabriel Grub's Song Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;
A stone at the head, a stone at the feet;
A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;
Rank grass overhead, and damp clay around,
Brave lodging for one, these, in holy ground
“Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that neverhurts" "There is nothing so strong or safe in an emergency of life as the simple truth"
“A heart well worth winning, and well won. A heart that, once won, goes through fire and water for the winner, and never changes, and is never daunted.”
"Cheerfulness and contentment are great beautifiers, and are fatuous preservers of youthful looks”
“I never could have done what I have done without the habits of punctuality, order, and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on one subject at a time.”
j“Whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do it well; whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself completely; in great aims and in small I have always thoroughly been in earnest.
“The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.”
“Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.”h
“We need never be ashamed of our tears" hg
"A heart well worth winning, and well won. A heart that, once won, goes through fire and water for the winner, and never changes, and is never daunted.”
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only"h
"No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another" hj"
“Life is made of ever so many partings welded together"
“The whole difference between construction and creation is exactly this: that a thing constructed can only be loved after it is constructed; but a thing created is loved before it exists" nb
"kj"I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free "g
k"To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart. "
"Charity begins at home, and justice begins next door."
"A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound
secret and mystery to every other. "
" 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 is a melancholy truth that even great men have their poor relations. "
" There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. "
" Renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly . "k
رد: The Greatest Literary Figure of the Victorian Age
Peace be upon you
What a great library of one of the writing icons in history
I still remember the days in which I was studying him as part of my studies back during the college
his works are pieces of art indeed
I loved the quotes parts
pretty great actually
I hope this is not the last work of yours in the new world of literature ^^l
here is a long for each section in one link to add them if you wish to the topic
and they are permanent so the links won't expire
رد: The Greatest Literary Figure of the Victorian Age
Indeed , he is a real big name in literature and so we need that name in our forum
!yeah ,The quotes are really expressive, I can say the complete image I drew inside my mind about his time is enough to tell how great he is!
اقتباس:
I hope this is not the last work of yours in the new world of literature ^^
when Dickens's name is mentioned , It feels like you don't wanna recall any other name in English literatre^^
Thanks for the links , they're pretty helpful ,I will add them
thanks for the replay as well
Peace be upon you
05-10-2010, 11:44 AM
أسمـــاء
رد: The Greatest Literary Figure of the Victorian Age
the topic was updated
enjoy
04-11-2010, 04:01 PM
Schwert
رد: The Greatest Literary Figure of the Victorian Age
Peace be upon you how r u dear sister Azuma it's really terrific topic I didn't know the significance of this person but now I know him well after I read this topic I know his novel Oliver Twist and it's from novels that i love I'll read for him another novels in sha Allah and I think I'll define his creativity through it and also through another works that he has done many thanks sis for this beautiful topic and ^__^ keep going
16-11-2010, 05:44 AM
أسمـــاء
رد: The Greatest Literary Figure of the Victorian Age
Peace be upon you Saber
I'm doing great thanx and glad you show up here
Yeah you will know more about him through out his novels
and you will like him either
thanks for passing by and Eid MUBARAK
:Smile:
