Quote

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?

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
Science
Pretend
Civilize
Art
March
Unlearn
World
Rings
Drums
Arts
Backward
Beat
Retreat
Accounts
Bells
Beats
Ring
Shall
Burn

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Separate from the pleasure of your company, I don't much care if I never see another mountain in my life.
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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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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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The drinking man is never less himself than during his sober intervals.
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We were happier when we were poorer, but we were also younger.
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A child's nature is too serious a thing to admit of its being regarded as a mere appendage to another being.
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No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.
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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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Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.
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Mother's love grows by giving.
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Of all sound of all bells... most solemn and touching is the peal which rings out the Old Year.
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The vices of some men are magnificent.
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I hate a man who swallows [his food], affecting not to know what he is eating. I suspect his taste in higher matters.
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Tis unpleasant to meet a beggar. It is painful to deny him and, if you relieve him, it is so much out of your pocket.
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A poor relation—is the most irrelevant thing in nature.
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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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My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it.
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If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!
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I could never hate anyone I knew.
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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