60+ Best A Tale of Two Cities Quotes: Exclusive Selection

A Tale of Two Cities is an 1859 historical novel by Charles Dickens, set in London and Paris before and during the French Revolution. Profoundly inspirational A Tale of Two Cities quotes will challenge the way you think, and make your life worth living.

If you’re searching for thought-provoking quotes from books that perfectly capture what you’d like to say or just want to feel inspired yourself, browse through an amazing collection of inspiring Christmas Carol quotes, powerful Anna Karenina quotes and famous War and Peace quotes.

Famous A Tale of Two Cities Quotes

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 imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

I am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things, even magnanimous things.

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 incredulity, 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–in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

Detestation of the high is the involuntary homage of the low.

I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.

We’ll start to forget a place once we left it.

It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives, to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name or crimes from the knitted register of Madame Defarge.

Tell the Wind and the Fire where to stop; not me.

Is it possible! Yes. And a beautiful world we live in, when it IS possible, and when many other such things are possible, and not only possible, but done

I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.

But indeed, at that time, putting to death was a recipe much in vogue with all trades and professions, and not least of all with Tellson’s. Death is Nature’s remedy for all things, and why not Legislation’s? Accordingly, the forger was put to Death; the utterer of a bad note was put to Death; the unlawful opener of a letter was put to Death; the purloiner of forty shillings and sixpence was put to death; the holder of a horse at Tellson’s door, who made off with it, was put to Death; the coiner of a bad schilling was put to Death; the sounders of three-fourths of the notes in the whole gamut of Crime, were put to Death. Not that it did the least good in the way of prevention — it might almost have been worth remarking that the fact was exactly the reverse — but, it cleared off (as to this world) the trouble of each particular case, and left nothing else connected with it to be looked after. I

Remember how strong we are in our happiness, and how weak he is in is misery!

Nothing that we do, is done in vain. I believe, with all my soul, that we shall see triumph.

He knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart.

Jerry, say that my answer was, ‘RECALLED TO LIFE.’

You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer, said Miss Pross, in her breathing. Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman.

But we common dogs are proud too, sometimes. They plunder us, outrage us, beat us, kill us; but we have a little pride left, sometimes

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 incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

Not ‘It’s plain enough, I should think, why he may be. It’s a dreadful remembrance. Besides that, his loss of himself grew out of it. Not knowing how he lost himself, or how he recovered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing himself again. That alone wouldn’t make the subject pleasant, I should think.

A day wasted on others is not wasted on one’s self.

For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name! was the poor prisoner’s cry with which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him and floated away for the Loadstone Rock.

The cloud of caring for nothing, which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light within him.

Good never come of such evil, a happier end was not in nature to so unhappy a beginning.

That glorious vision of doing good is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds.

Judge you! Is it likely that the trouble of one wife and mother would be much to us now?

Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seeds of rapacious licence and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind.

A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.

You have been the last dream of my soul.

I am not afraid to die, Citizen Evrémonde, but I have done nothing. I am not unwilling to die, if the Republic which is to do so much good to us poor, will profit by my death; but I do not know how that can be, Citizen Evrémonde. Such a poor weak little creature!

For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name! was the poor prisoner’s cry with which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him, and floated away for the Loadstone Rock.

Then tell the Wind and Fire where to stop, but don’t tell me.

Oh, Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father’s face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!

The sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive upheaving of wave against wave, whose depths were yet unfathomed and whose forces were yet unknown. The remorseless sea of turbulently swaying shapes, voices of vengeance, and faces hardened in the furnaces of suffering until the touch of pity could make no mark upon them.

I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by and by into our lives.

A multitude of people, and yet a solitude!

A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.

So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature on it.

Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule.

Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.

Death may beget life, but oppression can beget nothing other than itself.

‘We have seen nothing else,’ returned The Vengeance. ‘We have borne this a long time,’ said Madame Defarge, turning her eyes again upon Lucie. ‘Judge you! Is it likely that the trouble of one wife and mother would be much to us now?

She had laid her head upon my shoulder, that night when I was summoned out–she had a fear of my going, though I had none–and when I was brought to the North Tower they found these upon my sleeve. ‘You will leave me them? They can never help me to escape in the body, though they may in the spirit.’ Those words I said. I remember them very well.’

Not knowing how he lost himself, or how he recovered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing himself again.

Perhaps second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, come easily off and on.

So much was closing in about the women who sat knitting, knitting, that they their very selves were closing in around a structure yet unbuilt, where they were to sit knitting, knitting, counting dropping heads.

I would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding.

Repression is the only lasting philosophy. The dark deference of fear and slavery, my friend, observed the Marquis, will keep the dogs obedient to the whip, as long as this roof, looking up, shuts out the sky.

All through the cold and restless interval, until, dawn, they once more whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis Lorry—sitting opposite the buried man who had been dug out, and wondering what subtle powers were forever lost to him, and what were capable of restoration—the old inquiry: I hope you care to be recalled to life? And the old answer: I can’t say.

All through the cold and restless interval, until, dawn, they once more whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis Lorry–sitting opposite the buried man who had been dug out, and wondering what subtle powers were forever lost to him, and what were capable of restoration–the old inquiry: ‘I hope you care to be recalled to life?

Keep where you are because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. ,

And who among the company at Monseigneur’s reception in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt, that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered and gold-laced, pumped, and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out! I

I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss. I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy.

I am a disappointed drudge, sir. I care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me. I ,

If, when I tell you, dearest dear, that your agony is over, and that I have come here to take you from it, and that we go to England to be at peace and at rest, I cause you to think of your useful life laid waste, and of our native France so wicked to you, weep for it, weep for it! And if, when I shall tell you of my name, and of my father who is living, and of my mother who is dead, you learn that I have to kneel to my honoured father, and implore his pardon for never having for his sake striven all day and lain awake and wept all night, because the love of my poor mother hid his torture from me, weep for it, weep for it! Weep for her, then, and for me! Good gentlemen, thank God! I feel his sacred tears upon my face, and his sobs strike against my heart. O, see! Thank God for us, thank God!

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 incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

Eighteen years! Gracious Creator of day! To be buried alive for eighteen years!

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 incredulity, 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 — in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There is prodigious strength in sorrow and despair.

Into his handsome face, the bitter waters of captivity had worn; but, he covered up their tracks with a determination so strong, that he held the mastery of them even in his sleep.

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.