The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.
Most men are individuals no longer so far as their business, its activities, or its moralities are concerned. They are not units but fractions.
What other people think of me is none of my business. Sometimes, it hurts my feelings, but...- Lana Del Rey
Boxing is just show business with blood.- Bruno Frank
You do not require an invitation to make profits.- Shri Dhirubhai H. Ambani
Innovation distinguishes between a leader and a follower.- Steve Jobs
Happiness is a good business these days, more you talk crap about happiness the large numb...- Santosh Kalwar
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|Birth:||7th February, 1812|
|Death:||9th June, 1870|
Charles Dickens was born on 7 February 1812, at Landport in Portsea, the second of eight children to John and Elizabeth Dickens. Dickens left school to work in a factory after his father was thrown into debtors' prison. Though he had little formal education, his early impoverishment drove him to succeed. He edited a weekly journal for 20 years, wrote 15 novels and hundreds of short stories and non-fiction articles, lectured and performed extensively, was an indefatigable letter writer, and campaigned vigorously for children's rights, education, and other social reforms.
In 1832, at age 20, Dickens was energetic, full of good humour, enjoyed mimicry and popular entertainment, lacked a clear sense of what he wanted to become, yet knew he wanted to be famous. A year later he submitted his first story, "A Dinner at Poplar Walk" to the London periodical, Monthly Magazine. He rented rooms at Furnival's Inn becoming a political journalist, reporting on parliamentary debate and travelling across Britain to cover election campaigns for the Morning Chronicle. His journalism, in the form of sketches in periodicals, formed his first collection of pieces Sketches by Boz—Boz being a family nickname he employed as a pseudonym for some years—published in 1836. He continued to contribute to and edit journals throughout his literary career.
In late November 1851, Dickens moved into Tavistock House where he wrote Bleak House (1852–53), Hard Times (1854) and Little Dorrit (1857). It was here he indulged in the amateur theatricals which are described in Forster's "Life".
He was died at his residence, Higham, near Rochester, Kent, 9 June 1870, aged 58 years.
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