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Rags, which are the reproach of poverty, are the beggar's robes, and graceful insignia of his profession, his tenure, his full dress, the suit in which he is expected to show himself in public.

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
Show
Suits
Insignia
Shows
Dress
Tenure
Dresses
Graceful
Profession
Robes
Expected
Rags
Poverty
Reproach
Full
Beggar
Public
Suit

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I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown And all that history, much that fiction weaves.
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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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Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.
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Your absence of mind we have borne, till your presence of body came to be called in question by it.
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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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I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.
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Don't introduce me to that man! I want to go on hating him, and I can't hate a man whom I know.
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We were happier when we were poorer, but we were also younger.
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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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Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?
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It is with some violation of the imagination that we conceive of an actor belonging to the relations of private life, so closely do we identify these persons in our mind with the characters which they assume upon the stage.
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You look wise, pray correct that error.
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The pilasters reaching down were adorned with a glistering substance (I know not what) under glass (as it seemed), resembling - a homely fancy, but I judged it to be sugar-candy yet to my raised imagination, divested of its homelier qualities, it appeared a glorified candy.
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Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.
Charles Lamb
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And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
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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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She unbent her mind afterwards - over a book.
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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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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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You do not play then at whist, sir? Alas, what a sad old age you are preparing for yourself!
Charles Lamb