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Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.

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
Sounds
Friendship
Cold
Name
Names
Call
Sound
Better

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A sweet child is the sweetest thing in nature.
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For thy sake, tobacco, I would do anything but die.
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I never knew an enemy to puns who was not an ill-natured man.
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As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun 's upon Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!
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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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Boys are capital fellows in their own way, among their mates but they are unwholesome companions for grown people.
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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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The world meets nobody half way.
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How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me all are departed All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
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And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
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To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.
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You look wise, pray correct that error.
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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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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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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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The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.
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Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.
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There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.
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I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.
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Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.
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