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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!

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
Tongue
Blight
Slave
Treachery
Brave
Treason
Hour
Blast
Whose
Deadly
Hours
Council
Comes
Bravery
Blasts
Might
Curse
Councils

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This very night I am going to leave off tobacco! Surely there must be some other world in which this unconquerable purpose shall be realised.
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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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I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.
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Milton almost requires a solemn service of music to be played before you enter upon him. But he brings his music, to which who listen had need bring docile thoughts and purged ears.
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You look wise, pray correct that error.
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The man must have a rare recipe for melancholy, who can be dull in Fleet Street.
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Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.
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The true poet dreams being awake.
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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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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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I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown And all that history, much that fiction weaves.
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A babe is fed with milk and praise.
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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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The laws of Pluto's kingdom know small difference between king and cobbler, manager and call-boy and, if haply your dates of life were conterminant, you are quietly taking your passage, cheek by cheek (O ignoble levelling of Death) with the shade of some recently departed candle-snuffer.
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Positively, the best thing a man can have to do, is nothing, and next to that perhaps — good works.
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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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English physicians kill you, the French let you die.
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Think what you would have been now, if instead of being fed with tales and old wives' fables in childhood, you had been crammed with geography and natural history!
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Do not fold, spindle or mutilate.
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Opinions is a species of property - I am always desirous of sharing.
Charles Lamb