A Christmas Carol quotes

Marley was dead, to begin with.

There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change for anything he chose to put his hand to.

There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change for anything he chose to put his hand to.

Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.

The mention of Marley’s funeral brings me back to the point I started from.

There is no doubt that Marley was dead.

This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin.

He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days, and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.

Foul weather didn’t know where to have him.

The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often “came down” handsomely, and Scrooge never did.

Even the blind men’s dogs appeared to know him; and, when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, “

No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!

”

But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked.

To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call “nuts” to Scrooge.

Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve—old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather; foggy withal;

“Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily. “

What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You’re rich enough.

”

Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that.

Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.

But, before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that.

and it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent: so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.

Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.

No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him;

“Because,” said Scrooge, “a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.

There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!

”

“Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. “

Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were, all, my business.

The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Long past?” inquired Scrooge, observant of its dwarfish stature.

Perhaps Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap, and begged him to be covered.

“

God bless us every one!

” said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

“Man,” said the Ghost, “if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is.

Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die?

It may be that, in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man’s child. O God!

“

I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.

I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”

“I don’t know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath, and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his stockings. “

I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy, I am as giddy as a drunken man.

A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy new year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!”