1、I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.
2、No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is, won‘t make you cry.
3、The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside them knowing you can‘t have them.
4、Never frown, even when you are sad, because you never know who is falling in love with your smile.
5、To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.
6、Don‘t waste your time on a man/woman, who isn‘t willing to waste their time on you.
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it ws the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of increlity; 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 directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way."
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 increlity, 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 . . .
这是最好的时代，这是最坏的时代，是智慧的时代，这是愚蠢的时代，这是时代的信仰，这是划时代的怀疑，这是光明的季节，它是黑暗的季节，这是春天的希望，这是绝望的冬天，我们都摆在我们面前，我们没有任何关系摆在我们面前，我们都将直接向天堂，我们都将直接的其他方式。 。 。
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imagin-ings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this.
The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left red marks on the billets; and the forehead of the woman who nursed her baby, was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her head again. Those who had been greedy with the staves of the cask, had acquired a tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so besmirched, his head more out of a long squalid bag of a night-cap than in it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy wine-lees—blood.