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Here cometh April again, and as far as I can see the world hath more fools in it than ever.

Charles Lamb

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Charles Lamb
Age: 59 †
Born: 1775
Born: February 10
Died: 1834
Died: December 27
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Writer
London
England
Spring
Fool
Ever
Cometh
World
Pranks
Fooled
April
Fools
Hath

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Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!
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The man must have a rare recipe for melancholy, who can be dull in Fleet Street.
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The drinking man is never less himself than during his sober intervals.
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There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.
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To sigh, yet feel no pain To weep, yet scarce know why To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by.
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Dream not ... of having tasted all the grandeur and wildness of fancy till you have gone mad!
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Ceremony is an invention to take off the uneasy feeling which we derive from knowing ourselves to be less the object of love and esteem with a fellow-creature than some other person is. It endeavours to make up, by superior attentions in little points, for that invidious preference which it is forced to deny in the greater.
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We all have some taste or other, of too ancient a date to admit of our remembering it was an acquired one.
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There was a little man, and he had a little soul And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try!
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Go where glory waits thee! But while fame elates thee, Oh, still remember me!
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I could never hate anyone I knew.
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The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.
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My only books Were woman's looks,- And folly 's all they 've taught me.
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The world meets nobody half way.
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Philanthropy, like charity, must begin at home.
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For thy sake, tobacco, I would do anything but die.
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A flow'ret crushed in the bud, A nameless piece of Babyhood, Was in her cradle-coffin lying Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying
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By myself walking, To myself talking.
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This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, Theres nothing true but Heaven.
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I cannot sit and think books think for me.
Charles Lamb