Quote

Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells Of youth and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime!

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
Many
Evening
Time
Youth
Chime
Sweet
Chimes
Heard
Soothing
Lasts
Tale
Last
Bells
Home
Tales
Music
Tells

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I can scarce bring myself to believe, that I am admitted to a familiar correspondence, and all the license of friendship, with a man who writes blank verse like Milton.
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The drinking man is never less himself than during his sober intervals.
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I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.
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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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Not if I know myself at all.
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Coleridge declares that a man cannot have a good conscience who refuses apple dumplings, and I confess that I am of the same opinion.
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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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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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Of all sound of all bells... most solemn and touching is the peal which rings out the Old Year.
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Half as sober as a judge.
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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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I could never hate anyone I knew.
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May be the truth is, that one pipe is wholesome, two pipes toothsome, three pipes noisome, four pipes fulsome, five pipes quarrelsome and that's the some on't.
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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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My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it.
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Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.
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Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.
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We do not go to the theatre like our ancestors, to escape from the pressure of reality, so much as to confirm our experience of it.
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To be sick is to enjoy monarchical prerogatives.
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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?
Charles Lamb