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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

More quotes by Charles Lamb

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Here cometh April again, and as far as I can see the world hath more fools in it than ever.
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Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.
Charles Lamb
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When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love.
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The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims Tidings of good to Zion.
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No woman dresses below herself from mere caprice.
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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.
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Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.
Charles Lamb
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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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We all have some taste or other, of too ancient a date to admit of our remembering it was an acquired one.
Charles Lamb
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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.
Charles Lamb
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A man can never have too much Time to himself, nor too little to do. Had I a little son, I would christen him Nothing-To-Do he should do nothing. Man, I verily believe, is out of his element as long as he is operative. I am altogether for the life contemplative.
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Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.
Charles Lamb
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I cannot sit and think books think for me.
Charles Lamb
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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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In every thing that relates to science, I am a whole Encyclopaedia behind the rest of the world.
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A book reads the better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog's ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins.
Charles Lamb
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Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.
Charles Lamb
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Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam?
Charles Lamb
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And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
Charles Lamb
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No work is worse than overwork the mind preys on itself,--the most unwholesome of food.
Charles Lamb