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Go where glory waits thee! But while fame elates thee, Oh, still remember me!

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
Remember
Still
Waits
Thee
Fame
Glory
Waiting
Stills

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I could never hate anyone I knew.
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You may derive thoughts from others your way of thinking, the mould in which your thoughts are cast, must be your own.
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A poor relation—is the most irrelevant thing in nature.
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May my last breath be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled in a jest.
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The only true time which a man can properly call his own, is that which he has all to himself the rest, though in some sense he may be said to live it, is other people's time, not his.
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Pain is life - the sharper, the more evidence of life.
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There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.
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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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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 greatest pleasure I know, is to do a good action by stealth, and to have it found out by accident.
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No woman dresses below herself from mere caprice.
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Much depends upon when and where you read a book. In the five or six impatient minutes before the dinner is quite ready, who would think of taking up the Faerie Queen for a stopgap, or a volume of Bishop Andrews's Sermons?
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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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I have passed all my days in London, until I have formed as many and intense local attachments as any of you mountaineers can have done with dead nature.
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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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In some respects the better a book is, the less it demands from the binding.
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No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.
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English physicians kill you, the French let you die.
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It is good to love the unknown.
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There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.
Charles Lamb