The Works of Charles Lamb: With a Sketch of His Life and Final Memorials, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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Harper, 1855 - English literature
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Page 535 - Glittering in golden coats, like images; As full of spirit as the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
Page 151 - Specimens of English Dramatic Poets who lived about the time of Shakspeare...
Page 44 - Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun...
Page 206 - Throw yourself on the world without any rational plan of support, beyond what the chance employ of booksellers would afford you ! ! ! " Throw yourself rather, my dear Sir, from the steep Tarpeian rock slap-dash headlong upon iron spikes. If you had but five consolatory minutes between the desk and the bed, make much of them, and live a century in them, rather than turn slave to the Booksellers.
Page 109 - Your sun and moon and skies and hills and lakes affect me no more, or scarcely come to me in more venerable characters, than as a gilded room with tapestry and tapers, where I might live with handsome visible objects. I consider the clouds above me but as a roof, beautifully painted but unable to satisfy the mind, and at last, like the pictures of the apartment of a connoisseur, unable to afford him any longer a pleasure. So fading upon me, from disuse, have been the beauties of Nature, as they have...
Page 108 - The lighted shops of the Strand and Fleet Street ; the innumerable trades, tradesmen, and customers, coaches, waggons, playhouses, all the bustle and wickedness round about Covent Garden ; the watchmen, drunken scenes, rattles life awake if you awake at all hours of the night ; the impossibility of being dull in Fleet Street ; the crowds, the very dirt and mud, the sun shining upon houses and pavements, the...
Page 29 - Coleridge, you know not my supreme happiness at having one on earth (though counties separate us) whom I can call a friend. Remember you those tender lines of Logan ? 1 Our broken friendships we deplore, And loves of youth that are no more; No after friendships e'er can raise Th' endearments of our early days, And ne'er the heart such fondness prove, As when we first began to love.
Page 108 - ... steams of soups from kitchens ; the pantomimes London itself a pantomime and a masquerade all these things work themselves into my mind, and feed me without a power of satiating me. The wonder of these sights impels me into night-walks about her crowded streets, and I often shed tears in the motley Strand, from fulness of joy at so much life.
Page 485 - Mary is ill again. Her illnesses encroach yearly. The last was three months, followed by two of depression most dreadful. I look back upon her earlier attacks with longing. Nice little durations of six weeks or so, followed by complete restoration, shocking as they were to me then. In short, half her life she is dead to me, and the other half is made anxious with fears and lookings forward to the next shock.
Page 61 - As for myself, I walk abroad o' nights And kill sick people groaning under walls : Sometimes I go about and poison wells ; And now and then, to cherish Christian thieves, I am content to lose some of my crowns, That I may, walking in my gallery, See 'em go pinioned along by my door.

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