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Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.

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
Thee
Thus
Sea
Daughter
Darkness
Dark
Farewell
Beneath

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Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.
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In the Negro countenance you will often meet with strong traits of benignity. I have felt yearnings of tenderness towards some of these faces.
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Dream not ... of having tasted all the grandeur and wildness of fancy till you have gone mad!
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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!
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If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!
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I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.
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Lawyers, I suppose, were children once.
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It is good to love the unknown.
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How I like to be liked, and what I do to be liked!
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Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.
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Why are we never quite at ease in the presence of a schoolmaster? Because we are conscious that he is not quite at his ease in ours. He is awkward, and out of place in the society of his equals. He comes like Gulliver from among his little people, and he cannot fit the stature of his understanding to yours.
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Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever puts one down without the feeling of disappointment.
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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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It is well if the good man himself does not feel his devotions a little clouded, those foggy sensuous steams mingling with and polluting the pure altar surface.
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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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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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Half as sober as a judge.
Charles Lamb
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To be thankful for what we grasp exceeding our proportion is to add hypocrisy to injustice.
Charles Lamb
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The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.
Charles Lamb