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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.

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
Book
Embracing
Much
Shown
Like
Leaves
Historical
Capacious
Tradition
Weaves
Whose
Hone
Fiction
Marrow
History
Ingenious

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Mother's love grows by giving.
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A babe is fed with milk and praise.
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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.
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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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Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.
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You do not play then at whist, sir? Alas, what a sad old age you are preparing for yourself!
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No woman dresses below herself from mere caprice.
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I cannot sit and think books think for me.
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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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A presentation copy, reader,-if haply you are yet innocent of such favours-is a copy of a book which does not sell, sent you by the author.
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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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We gain nothing by being with such as ourselves. We encourage one another in mediocrity. I am always longing to be with men more excellent than myself.
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The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.
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Lawyers, I suppose, were children once.
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I have sat through an Italian opera, til, for sheer pain, and inexplicable anguish, I have rushed out into the noisiest places of the crowded street, to solace myself with sounds which I was not obliged to follow and get rid of the distracting torment of endless, fruitless, barren attention!
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Opinions is a species of property - I am always desirous of sharing.
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While childhood, and while dreams, producing childhood, shall be left, imagination shall not have spread her holy wings totally to fly the earth.
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The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.
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To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.
Charles Lamb
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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