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Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.

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
Shore
Unknown
Silent
Silence
Gone

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Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.
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A presentation copy...is a copy of a book whoch does not sell, sent you by the author, with his foolish autograph at the beginning of it for which, if a stranger, he only demands your friendship if a brother author, he expects from you a book of yours, which does not sell, in return.
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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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A babe is fed with milk and praise.
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No woman dresses below herself from mere caprice.
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Boys are capital fellows in their own way, among their mates but they are unwholesome companions for grown people.
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How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me all are departed All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
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The drinking man is never less himself than during his sober intervals.
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In every thing that relates to science, I am a whole Encyclopaedia behind the rest of the world.
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Books of quick interest, that hurry on for incidents are for the eye to glide over only. It will not do to read them out. I could never listen to even the better kind of modern novels without extreme irksomeness.
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Do not fold, spindle or mutilate.
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We are nothing less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name.
Charles Lamb
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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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I have done all that I came into this world to do. I have worked task work, and have the rest of the day to myself.
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There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.
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Some people have a knack of putting upon you gifts of no real value, to engage you to substantial gratitude. We thank them for nothing.
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Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds, exceed in interest a knock at the door.
Charles Lamb
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As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun 's upon Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!
Charles Lamb
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If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!
Charles Lamb
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How sickness enlarges the dimensions of a man's self to himself! Supreme selfishness is inculcated upon him as his only duty.
Charles Lamb