Quote

We are nothing less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name.

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
Must
Names
Tedious
Waiting
Shore
Age
Ages
Upon
Wait
Less
Dreams
Dream
Millions
Might
Name
Lethe
Nothing
Existence
Shores

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To be thankful for what we grasp exceeding our proportion is to add hypocrisy to injustice.
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Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.
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A child's nature is too serious a thing to admit of its being regarded as a mere appendage to another being.
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A sweet child is the sweetest thing in nature.
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Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.
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A Persian's heaven is eas'ly made: 'T is but black eyes and lemonade.
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I could never hate anyone I knew.
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A presentation copy, reader,-if haply you are yet innocent of such favours-is a copy of a book which does not sell, sent you by the author.
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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.
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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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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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I never knew an enemy to puns who was not an ill-natured man.
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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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I am, in plainer words, a bundle of prejudices - made up of likings and dislikings.
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Fly not yet 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.
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My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it.
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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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No woman dresses below herself from mere caprice.
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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!
Charles Lamb