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Marley was dead, to begin with. there is no doubt whatever about that. the register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. scrooge signed it. and scrooge's name was good upon 'change for anything he chose to put his hand to. old marley was as dead as a door-nail.
-Charles Dickens
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Marley Was Dead, To Begin With. There

Charles Dickens
Marley was dead, to begin with. there is no doubt whatever about that. the register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. scrooge signed it. and scrooge's name was good upon 'change for anything he chose to put his hand to. old marley was as dead as a door-nail.
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Doors Hands Names

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Old marley was as dead as a doornail. mind! i don't mean to say that, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail. i might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. but the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country's done for. you will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that marley was as dead as a doornail.
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The same hand that stilled the seas stills your guilt. the same hand that cleansed the temple cleanses your heart. the hand is the hand of god. the nail is the nail of god. and as the hands of jesus opened for the nail, the doors of heaven opened for you.
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When god gives you a door, if you want access, you go through that door. people didn't like jesus. oh, they had all kind of reasons to hate him but jesus said, "i am the door. any man who enters must come by me. if you don't come by me," he said, "you're a thief and a robber." well, if omarosa manigault is the door to donald trump, well i kind of like that door. that's a pretty door. that's an intelligent door. that's a spiritually rooted door.
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The good news borne by our risen messiah who chose not one race, who chose not one country, who chose not one language, who chose not one tribe, who chose all of humankind!
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We're creating a tv show of scrooge, starring jamie farr, with buddy hackett as scrooge. we're shooting in this victorian set for weeks, and hackett is pissed all the time, angry that he's not the center of attention, and finally we get to the scene where we've gotta shoot him at the window, saying, "go get my boots," or whatever. the set is stocked with victorian extras and little children in oliver kind of outfits, and the director says, "all right, bud - just give it whatever you want." and hackett goes off on a rant. unbelievably obscene.
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They have passed the big inheritance tax, and that gets you when you are gone. you used to could die and be able to beat taxes, but not now. the undertaker don't go over your body as carefully as the assessor does your accumilated assets, and he gets his before the undertaker. they have it on these big fortunes now where they pay as high as 60 to 70 percent of what they leave. that's mighty expensive dying when it runs into money like that, and you won't see 'em dropping off as casually as they have been.
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