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O money, money, how blindly thou hast been worshipped, and how stupidly abused! Thou are health and liberty and strength, and he that has thee may rattle his pockets at the foul fiend!

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
May
Foul
Pockets
Stupidly
Thou
Fiend
Thee
Rattle
Strength
Worshipped
Health
Blindly
Liberty
Hast
Money
Abused

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She unbent her mind afterwards - over a book.
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Opinions is a species of property - I am always desirous of sharing.
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There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.
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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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May my last breath be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled in a jest.
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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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Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
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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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While childhood, and while dreams, producing childhood, shall be left, imagination shall not have spread her holy wings totally to fly the earth.
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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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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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And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
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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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To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.
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English physicians kill you, the French let you die.
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I am accounted by some people as a good man. How cheap that character is acquired! Pay your debts, don't borrow money, nor twist your kitten's neck off, nor disturb a congregation, etc., your business is done. I know things of myself, which would make every friend I have fly me as a plague patient.
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Some people have a knack of putting upon you gifts of no real value, to engage you to substantial gratitude. We thank them for nothing.
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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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Let us live for the beauty of our own reality.
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Were I Diogenes, I would not move out of a kilderkin into a hogshead, though the first had had nothing but small beer in it, and the second reeked claret.
Charles Lamb