Quote

Milton almost requires a solemn service of music to be played before you enter upon him. But he brings his music, to which who listen had need bring docile thoughts and purged ears.

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
Played
Docile
Need
Thoughts
Milton
Needs
Listen
Solemn
Bring
Enter
Almost
Requires
Reading
Brings
Service
Upon
Ears
Purged
Music

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To be sick is to enjoy monarchical prerogatives.
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Much depends upon when and where you read a book. In the five or six impatient minutes before the dinner is quite ready, who would think of taking up the Faerie Queen for a stopgap, or a volume of Bishop Andrews's Sermons?
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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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And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
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Positively, the best thing a man can have to do, is nothing, and next to that perhaps — good works.
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You do not play then at whist, sir? Alas, what a sad old age you are preparing for yourself!
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The drinking man is never less himself than during his sober intervals.
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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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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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The laws of Pluto's kingdom know small difference between king and cobbler, manager and call-boy and, if haply your dates of life were conterminant, you are quietly taking your passage, cheek by cheek (O ignoble levelling of Death) with the shade of some recently departed candle-snuffer.
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How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me all are departed All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
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A book reads the better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog's ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins.
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Here cometh April again, and as far as I can see the world hath more fools in it than ever.
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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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How convalescence shrinks a man back to his pristine stature! where is now the space, which he occupied so lately, in his own, in the family's eye?
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No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.
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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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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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Man is a gaming animal. He must always be trying to get the better in something or other.
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