It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
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. . . . (Dickens, 1)
Probably the most famous quotation taken from one of Dickens' novels, opens A Tale of Two Cities, It hints at the novel's focus on the tension between love and family, on one side, and the hatred and oppression, on the other side. The literary device used in this quote is an anaphora, which is the repetition of a phrase at the beginning of consecutive clauses. This technique, in combination with the passage's steady rhythm, proposes that goodness and abhorrence, shrewdness and imprudence, and light and obscurity stand equally matched. The opposites shown in the quotation show the novel's most unmistakable themes - that of doubles, including London and Paris, Sydney Carton and Charles Darnay, Miss Pross and Madame Defarge, and Lucie and Madame Defarge.
Probably the most famous quotation taken from one of Dickens' novels, opens A Tale of Two Cities, It hints at the novel's focus on the tension between love and family, on one side, and the hatred and oppression, on the other side. The literary device used in this quote is an anaphora, which is the repetition of a phrase at the beginning of consecutive clauses. This technique, in combination with the passage's steady rhythm, proposes that goodness and abhorrence, shrewdness and imprudence, and light and obscurity stand equally matched. The opposites shown in the quotation show the novel's most unmistakable themes - that of doubles, including London and Paris, Sydney Carton and Charles Darnay, Miss Pross and Madame Defarge, and Lucie and Madame Defarge.
Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh...
Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrels carry the day’s wine to La Guillotine. All the devouring and insatiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself, are fused in one realization, Guillotine. And yet there is not in France, with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a sprig, a peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more certain than those that have produced this horror. Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind. (Dickens, 267)
In this succinct and wonderful section, which happens in the last part of the novel, Dickens outlines his irresolute state of mind toward the French Revolution. The author stops decidedly short of justifying the violence that the peasants use to overturn the social order, personifying “La Guillotine” as a sort of drunken lord who consumes human lives—“the day’s wine.” Nevertheless, Dickens shows a thorough understanding of how such violence and bloodlust can come about. The cruel aristocracy’s oppression of the poor “sow[s] the same seed of rapacious license” in the poor and compels them to persecute the aristocracy and other enemies of the revolution with equal brutality. Dickens perceives these revolutionaries as “[c]rush[ed] . . . out of shape” and having been “hammer[ed] . . . into . . . tortured forms.” This shows his belief that the lower classes have lost their fundamental goodness as it has been perverted by the terrible conditions under which the aristocracy has forced them to live.
In this succinct and wonderful section, which happens in the last part of the novel, Dickens outlines his irresolute state of mind toward the French Revolution. The author stops decidedly short of justifying the violence that the peasants use to overturn the social order, personifying “La Guillotine” as a sort of drunken lord who consumes human lives—“the day’s wine.” Nevertheless, Dickens shows a thorough understanding of how such violence and bloodlust can come about. The cruel aristocracy’s oppression of the poor “sow[s] the same seed of rapacious license” in the poor and compels them to persecute the aristocracy and other enemies of the revolution with equal brutality. Dickens perceives these revolutionaries as “[c]rush[ed] . . . out of shape” and having been “hammer[ed] . . . into . . . tortured forms.” This shows his belief that the lower classes have lost their fundamental goodness as it has been perverted by the terrible conditions under which the aristocracy has forced them to live.
I see a beautiful city and brilliant people...
I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out. . . .
I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. . . .
It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known. (Dickens, 270)
This section, which happens in the last part, forecasts two resurrections: one individual, the other national. In a novel that tries to look at the way of resurrections—the overturning of one lifestyle for another—the battles of France and of Sydney Carton reflect each other. Here, Dickens articulates the outcome of those struggles: just as Paris will “ris[e] from [the] abyss” of the French Revolution’s chaotic and bloody violence, so too will Carton be reborn into glory after a virtually wasted life. In the prophecy that Paris will become “a beautiful city” and that Carton’s name will be “made illustrious,” the reader sees evidence of Dickens’s faith in the essential goodness of humankind. The very last thoughts attributed to Carton, in their poetic use of repetition, register this faith as a calm and soothing certainty.
I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. . . .
It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known. (Dickens, 270)
This section, which happens in the last part, forecasts two resurrections: one individual, the other national. In a novel that tries to look at the way of resurrections—the overturning of one lifestyle for another—the battles of France and of Sydney Carton reflect each other. Here, Dickens articulates the outcome of those struggles: just as Paris will “ris[e] from [the] abyss” of the French Revolution’s chaotic and bloody violence, so too will Carton be reborn into glory after a virtually wasted life. In the prophecy that Paris will become “a beautiful city” and that Carton’s name will be “made illustrious,” the reader sees evidence of Dickens’s faith in the essential goodness of humankind. The very last thoughts attributed to Carton, in their poetic use of repetition, register this faith as a calm and soothing certainty.