Quote

Fly not yet 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.

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
Eye
Begins
Night
Son
Scorns
Light
Hour
Maids
Love
Moon
Bloom
Like
Flower
Scorn
Justice
Sons
Pleasure
Midnight
Hours
Vulgar

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How sickness enlarges the dimensions of a man's self to himself! Supreme selfishness is inculcated upon him as his only duty.
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Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?
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Tis unpleasant to meet a beggar. It is painful to deny him and, if you relieve him, it is so much out of your pocket.
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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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We are nothing less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name.
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There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.
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Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.
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Tis unpleasant to meet a beggar. It is painful to deny him and, if you relieve him, it is so much out of your pocket.
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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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Sassafras wood boiled down to a kind of tea, and tempered with an infusion of milk and sugar hath to some a delicacy beyond the China luxury.
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No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.
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You look wise, pray correct that error.
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We all have some taste or other, of too ancient a date to admit of our remembering it was an acquired one.
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Separate from the pleasure of your company, I don't much care if I never see another mountain in my life.
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Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever puts one down without the feeling of disappointment.
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To be sick is to enjoy monarchical prerogatives.
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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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Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam?
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The vices of some men are magnificent.
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When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love.
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