So with his conversation--every thought, every fancy, every feeling was expressed with the utmost vivacity and intensity, but a vivacity and intensity compatible with the most singular delicacy and nicety of touch when delicacy and nicety of touch were needed.
What were called the exaggerations of his writing were due, I have no doubt, to the extraordinary luminosity of his imagination.

He saw and rendered such an individuality as Mr.Pecksniff's or Mrs.Nickleby's for instance, something after the same fashion as a solar microscope renders any object observed through it.

The world in general beholds its Pecksniffs and its Mrs.Nicklebys through a different medium.

And at any rate Dickens got at the quintessence of his creatures, and enables us all, in our various measures, to perceive it too.

The proof of this is that we are constantly not only quoting the sayings and doings of his immortal characters, but are recognising other sayings and doings as what _they_ would have said or done.
But it is impossible for one who knew him as I did to confine what he remembers of him either to traits of outward appearance or to appreciations of his genius.