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A garden was the primitive prison, till man, with Promethean felicity and boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it.
—  Charles Lamb
The red-letter days now become, to all intents and purposes, dead-letter days.
—  Charles Lamb
The only true time which a man can properly call his own, is that which he has all to himself; the rest, though in some sense he may be said to live it, is other people's time, not his.
—  Charles Lamb
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.
—  Charles Lamb
The greatest pleasure I know, is to do a good action by stealth, and to have it found out by accident.
—  Charles Lamb
Martin, if dirt was trumps, what hands you would hold!
—  Charles Lamb
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die.
—  Charles Lamb
He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an ornament to society.
—  Charles Lamb
For thy sake, Tobacco, I Would do any thing but die.
—  Charles Lamb
A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game.
—  Charles Lamb

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