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And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

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
Soul
Memory
Long
Green
Tears
Memories
Shall
Rolls
Secret
Tear
Though
Shed
Keep
Souls

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The only true time which a man can properly call his own, is that which he has all to himself the rest, though in some sense he may be said to live it, is other people's time, not his.
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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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A pun is not bound by the laws which limit nicer wit. It is a pistol let off at the ear not a feather to tickle the intellect.
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The true poet dreams being awake.
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Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.
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The going away of friends does not make the remainder more precious. It takes so much from them as there was a common link. A. B. and C. make a party. A. dies. B. not only loses A. but all A.'s part in C. C. loses A.'s part in B., and so the alphabet sickens by subtraction of interchangeables.
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May my last breath be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled in a jest.
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Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.
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To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.
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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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Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.
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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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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.
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Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!
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In every thing that relates to science, I am a whole Encyclopaedia behind the rest of the world.
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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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Opinions is a species of property - I am always desirous of sharing.
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If dirt were trumps, what hands you would hold!
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Shakespeare is one of the last books one should like to give up, perhaps the one just before the Dying Service in a large Prayer book.
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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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