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

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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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I even think that, sentimentally, I am disposed to harmony. But organically I am incapable of a tune.
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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?
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A flow'ret crushed in the bud, A nameless piece of Babyhood, Was in her cradle-coffin lying Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying
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The drinking man is never less himself than during his sober intervals.
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Some people have a knack of putting upon you gifts of no real value, to engage you to substantial gratitude. We thank them for nothing.
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Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.
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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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Asparagus inspires gentle thoughts.
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No one ever regarded the first of January with indifference.
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Philanthropy, like charity, must begin at home.
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May my last breath be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled in a jest.
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Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds, exceed in interest a knock at the door.
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It is good to love the unknown.
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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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I could never hate anyone I knew.
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My only books Were woman's looks,- And folly 's all they 've taught me.
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Is it a stale remark to say that I have constantly found the interest excited at a playhouse to bear an exact inverse proportion to the price paid for admission?
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To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.
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The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.
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