To Have A Cricket On The Hearth

It Would Have Been Cruel In Miss Havisham, Horribly Cruel, To Practise On The Susceptibility Of A Poor Boy, And To Torture Me Through All These Years With A Vain Hope And An Idle Pursuit, If She Had Reflected On The Gravity Of What She Did. But I Think She Did Not. I Think That In The Endurance Of Her Own Trial, She Forgot Mine, Estella.

It Was One Of Those Hot, Silent Nights, When People Sit At Windows Listening For The Thunder Which They Know Will Shortly Break; When They Recall Dismal Tales Of Hurricanes And Earthquakes; And Of Lonely Travellers On Open Plains, And Lonely Ships At Sea, Struck By Lightning.

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.

New Thoughts And Hopes Were Whirling Through My Mind, And All The Colours Of My Life Were Changing.

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.