Charles Lamb
Charles Lamb
Charles Lambwas an English writer and essayist, best known for his Essays of Elia and for the children's book Tales from Shakespeare, which he produced with his sister, Mary Lamb...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionChildren's Author
Date of Birth10 February 1775
hate
I could never hate anyone I knew.
home charity philanthropy
Philanthropy, like charity, must begin at home.
character men people
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.
fighting bravery soldier
Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?
heart stains combat
Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
heart peculiar veins
When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power.
heart stealing stolen
And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
men poor estates
From a poor man, poor in Time, I was suddenly lifted up into a vast revenue; I could see no end of my possessions; I wanted some steward, or judicious bailiff, to manage my estates in Time for me.
voice zion cheerful
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.
heart giving poor
I give thee all,-I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.
family irrelevance poor
A poor relation—is the most irrelevant thing in nature.
spring heart simplicity
Cultivate simplicity or rather should I say banish elaborateness, for simplicity springs spontaneous from the heart.
art past looks
Antiquity! thou wondrous charm, what art thou? that being nothing art everything? When thou wert, thou wert not antiquity - then thou wert nothing, but hadst a remoter antiquity, as thou calledst it, to look back to with blind veneration; thou thyself being to thyself flat, jejune, modern! What mystery lurks in this retroversion? or what half Januses are we, that cannot look forward with the same idolatry with which we for ever revert! The mighty future is as nothing, being everything! the past is everything, being nothing!
pain night joy
Oh stay! oh stay! Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh 't is pain To break its links so soon.