Quote

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.

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
Like
Hills
Wherever
Proclaims
Pleasant
Zion
Strikes
Tidings
Heard
Sabbath
Voice
Cheerful
Sense
Bells
Good
Strike

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It is good to love the unknown.
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To sigh, yet feel no pain To weep, yet scarce know why To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by.
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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.
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Oh stay! oh stay! Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh 't is pain To break its links so soon.
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We were happier when we were poorer, but we were also younger.
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I never knew an enemy to puns who was not an ill-natured man.
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For thy sake, tobacco, I would do anything but die.
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For with G. D., to be absent from the body is sometimes (not to speak profanely) to be present with the Lord.
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Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.
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Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.
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O money, money, how blindly thou hast been worshipped, and how stupidly abused! Thou are health and liberty and strength, and he that has thee may rattle his pockets at the foul fiend!
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The man must have a rare recipe for melancholy, who can be dull in Fleet Street.
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The English writer, Charles Lamb, said one day: I hate that man. But you don't know him. Of course, I don't, said Lamb. Do you think I could possibly hate a man I know?
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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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'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.
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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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I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.
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A poor relation—is the most irrelevant thing in nature.
Charles Lamb
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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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Rags, which are the reproach of poverty, are the beggar's robes, and graceful insignia of his profession, his tenure, his full dress, the suit in which he is expected to show himself in public.
Charles Lamb