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Quotes by Charles Lamb
For with G. D., to be absent from the body is sometimes (not to speak it profanely) to be present with the Lord. S.— filed under Absence
Your absence of mind we have borne, till your presence of body came to be called in question by it.— filed under Absence
Johnson. 1772. A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game.— filed under Amusements
Antiquity, what is it else (God only excepted) but man's authority born some ages before us? Now for the truth of things time makes no alteration; things are still the same they are, let the time be past, present, or to come. Those things which we reverence for antiquity what were they at their first birth? Were they false?-time cannot make them true. Were they true?-time cannot make them more true. The circumstances therefore of time in respect of truth and error is merely impertinent. JOHN HALES (The Ever Memorable)- Of Inquiry and Private Judgment in Religion. Damn the age; I will write for Antiquity.— filed under Antiquity
Suck, baby! suck! mother's love grows by giving: Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting! Black manhood comes when riotous guilty living Hands thee the cup that shall be death in tasting.— filed under Awkwardness
Coast of Lincolnshire. ( I call the Living-I mourn the Dead- I break the Lightning. Inscribed on the Great Bell of the Minster of Schaffhausen-also on that of the Church of Art, near Lucerne. The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims Tidings of good to Zion.— filed under Bells
Books which are no books.— filed under Books
I love to lose myself in other men's minds. When I am not walking, I am reading; I cannot sit and think. Books think for me.— filed under Books
CHARLES LAMB-Complaint of the Decay of Beggars in the Metropolis. Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.— filed under Charity
If dirt was trumps, what hands you would hold!— filed under Cleanliness
Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.— filed under Death
Gray. A woman asked a coachman, "Are you full inside?" Upon which Lamb put his head through the window and said: "I am quite full inside; that last piece of pudding at Mr. Gillman's did the business for me."— filed under Eating
Here lies one whose name was writ in water. Engraved on Keats' tombstone at his own desire. I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone. i. CHARLES LAMB. Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.— filed under And Cared Not How It Blew
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.— filed under Face
Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? C.— filed under Friends
An album is a garden, not for show Planted, but use; where wholesome herbs should grow.— filed under Garden
Pope's trans. "Presents," I often say, "endear Absents."— filed under Gifts
Breakfast Table. VIII. What a place to be in is an old library! It seems as though all the souls of all the writers that have bequeathed their labours to these Bodleians were reposing here as in some dormitory, or middle state. I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their windingsheets. I could as soon dislodge a shade. I seem to inhale learning, walking amid their foliage; and the odor of their old mothscented coverings is fragrant as the first bloom of those sciential apples which grew amid the happy orchard.— filed under Libraries
I even think that, sentimentally, I am disposed to harmony. But organically I am incapable of a tune.— filed under Music
Men of Genius. Miscellanists. Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever lays one down without a feeling of disappointment.— filed under Occupations-Jeweler
For I hate, yet love thee, so, That, whichever thing I show, The plain truth will seem to be A constrained hyperbole, And the passion to proceed More from a mistress than a weed.— filed under Occupations-Tobacconists
For thy sake, tobacco, I Would do anything but die. レ— filed under Occupations-Tobacconists
Nay, rather, Plant divine, of rarest virtue; Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.— filed under Occupations-Tobacconists
Thou in such a cloud dost bind us, That our worst foes cannot find us, And ill fortune, that would thwart us, Shoots at rovers, shooting at us; While each man, through thy height'ning steam, Does like a smoking Etna seem. C.— filed under Occupations-Tobacconists
Thou through such a mist dost show us, That our best friends do not know us.— filed under Occupations-Tobacconists
Half as sober as a judge.— filed under Proverbs
Not if I know myself at all.— filed under Proverbs
Neat, not gaudy.— filed under Libanius
He might have proved a useful adjunct, if And airy hopes my children. not an ornament to society.— filed under Society
Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name in the rubric, Thou venerable arch flamen of Hymen. * * * Like unto thee Like unto thee, assuredly, there is no other calendar.— filed under Hood
Who first invented work, and bound the free And holyday-rejoicing spirit down * * * To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? wood? * * * Sabbathless Satan!— filed under Work