‘Me, I am tout à fait stupide. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he
broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in
our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. She laughed softly, and leaned
across the table. It seemed to them
they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating
existence. Dare we look back upon the
darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how
many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled,
is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we
indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us
then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the
anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in
ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us
by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off
than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of
this. ”
“Problems?”
“Sometimes quite difficult problems.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 15-07-2024 11:04:44