Dickens

There was a man, a playwright, named St John Ervine who revered George Bernard Shaw - he knew him well - and Charles Dickens. Dickens too was revered by Shaw. Once someone asked him where he got all his characters from in his plays. "From Dickens," he replied.
St John Ervine used to broadcast talks on radio a long time ago; when Shaw died he gave a wonderful, emotional, tribute to him.
I remember in one of his talks his mentioning Shaw's love of Dickens, but, he said, it was not quite so strong as a man he once knew who, if a stranger called at his house, would straight away ask the person if he liked Dickens, and if the stranger answered in the negative, Ervine said, "the man would lock away his silver and phone for the police."
How can anyone not love Dickens after reading a short passage from "Little Dorrit" like this?
Little Dorrit is relating a fairy story to her friend, Maggy:

"Hospitals," interposed Maggy, still nursing her knees. "Let him have hospitals because they're so comfortable. Hospitals with lots of chicking."
"Yes, he had plenty of them and he had plenty of everything."
"Plenty of baked potatoes, for instance," said Maggy.
"Plenty of everything."
"Lor!" chuckled Maggy, giving her knees a hug. "Wasn't it prime!"