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Boys are capital fellows in their own way, among their mates but they are unwholesome companions for grown people.

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
Boys
Unwholesome
Way
Companions
People
Mates
Companion
Capital
Grown
Fellows
Among

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I love to lose myself in other men's minds.... Books think for me.
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The pilasters reaching down were adorned with a glistering substance (I know not what) under glass (as it seemed), resembling - a homely fancy, but I judged it to be sugar-candy yet to my raised imagination, divested of its homelier qualities, it appeared a glorified candy.
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You do not play then at whist, sir? Alas, what a sad old age you are preparing for yourself!
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A man may do very well with a very little knowledge, and scarce be found out in mixed company everybody is so much more ready to produce his own, than to call for a display of your acquisitions.
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And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
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Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
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Positively, the best thing a man can have to do, is nothing, and next to that perhaps — good works.
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A presentation copy, reader,-if haply you are yet innocent of such favours-is a copy of a book which does not sell, sent you by the author.
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She unbent her mind afterwards - over a book.
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Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.
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Sassafras wood boiled down to a kind of tea, and tempered with an infusion of milk and sugar hath to some a delicacy beyond the China luxury.
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I know that a sweet child is the sweetest thing in nature, not even excepting the delicate creatures which bear them.
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It is good to love the unknown.
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Half as sober as a judge.
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Shakespeare is one of the last books one should like to give up, perhaps the one just before the Dying Service in a large Prayer book.
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I never knew an enemy to puns who was not an ill-natured man.
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Can we ring the bells backward? Can we unlearn the arts that pretend to civilize, and then burn the world? There is a march of science but who shall beat the drums for its retreat?
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I cannot sit and think books think for me.
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In some respects the better a book is, the less it demands from the binding.
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Fly not yet 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.
Charles Lamb