"[…]wouldn’t they, Tom White, -- eh?"
"My name is Oliver, sir," replied the little invalid with a look of great astonishment.
"Oliver!" said Mr. Brownlow; "Oliver what? Oliver White,-- eh?"
"No, sir, Twist,-- Oliver Twist."
"Queer name," said the old gentleman. (12.53-56)
Such is the influence which the condition of our own thoughts exercises even over the appearance of external objects. Men who look on nature and their fellow men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the somber colours are reflections from their own jaundiced vision. (34.60)
There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us sometimes which, while it holds the body prisoner, does not free the mind from a sense of things about it, and enable it to ramble as it pleases. So far as an overpowering heaviness, a prostration of strength, and an utter inability to control our thoughts or power of motion can be called sleep, this is it; and yet we have a consciousness of all that is going on about us. (34.65)