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Dream not ... of having tasted all the grandeur and wildness of fancy till you have gone mad!

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
Gone
Dream
Wildness
Tasted
Grandeur
Fancy
Mad
Till

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Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever puts one down without the feeling of disappointment.
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She unbent her mind afterwards - over a book.
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Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
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Opinions is a species of property - I am always desirous of sharing.
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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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A man can never have too much Time to himself, nor too little to do. Had I a little son, I would christen him Nothing-To-Do he should do nothing. Man, I verily believe, is out of his element as long as he is operative. I am altogether for the life contemplative.
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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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The measure of choosing well, is, whether a man likes and finds good in what he has chosen.
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A man cannot have a pure mind who refuses apple dumplings.
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Ceremony is an invention to take off the uneasy feeling which we derive from knowing ourselves to be less the object of love and esteem with a fellow-creature than some other person is. It endeavours to make up, by superior attentions in little points, for that invidious preference which it is forced to deny in the greater.
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The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.
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My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it.
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Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.
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There was a little man, and he had a little soul And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try!
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I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.
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Is the world all grown up? Is childhood dead? Or is there not in the bosom of the wisest and the best some of the child's heart left, to respond to its earliest enchantments?
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No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.
Charles Lamb
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'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.
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No one ever regarded the first of January with indifference.
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Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.
Charles Lamb