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David Copperfield

David Copperfield
 

I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleas... read full description below.

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ISBN 9781495202544
Published 8 February 2014 by Createspace
Format Trade Paperback/Paperback
Alternate Format(s) View All (206 other possible title(s) available)
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Author(s) By Dickens, Charles
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Full details for this title

ISBN-13 9781495202544
ISBN-10 1495202542
Stock Available
Status Internationally sourced; ships 6-12 working days
Publisher Createspace
Imprint Createspace
Publication Date 8 February 2014
Publication Country United States United States
Format Trade Paperback/Paperback
Author(s) By Dickens, Charles
Category General & Literary Fiction
Classic Fiction
Number of Pages 622 pp
Dimensions Width: 152mm
Height: 229mm
Spine: 32mm
Weight 821g
Interest Age General Audience
Reading Age General Audience
NBS Text General & Literary Fiction
ONIX Text General/trade
Dewey Code 823.8
Catalogue Code Not specified

Description of this Book

I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret - pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the separation from many companions - that I am in danger of wearying the reader whom I love, with personal confidences, and private emotions. Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any purpose, I have endeavoured to say in it. It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two-years' imaginative task; or how an Author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy world, when a crowd of the creatures of his brain are going from him for ever. Yet, I have nothing else to tell; unless, indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less moment still) that no one can ever believe this Narrative, in the reading, more than I have believed it in the writing. Instead of looking back, therefore, I will look forward. I cannot close this Volume more agreeably to myself, than with a hopeful glance towards the time when I shall again put forth my two green leaves once a month, and with a faithful remembrance of the genial sun and showers that have fallen on these leaves of David Copperfield, and made me happy. London, October, 1850.

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