Don't be cross, Uncle!
What else can I be when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart!
Nephew! Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.
But you don't keep it!
Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!
There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round - apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that - as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it! [Cratchit applauds]
[Looking with horror upon the children representing Ignorance and Want] Have they no refuse, no resource?
[Suddenly morphing into an adult wielding a knife, and echoing Scrooge's words from earlier] Are there no prisons?
[Suddenly morphing into an adult, and echoing Scrooge's words from earlier] Are there no workhouses?