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?"

My only books Were woman's looks,- And folly 's all they 've taught me.

May be the truth is, that one pipe is wholesome, two pipes toothsome, three pipes noisome, four pipes fulsome, five pipes quarrelsome; and that's the some on't.

I am determined that my children shall be brought up in their father's religion, if they can find out what it is.

Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken.

This very night I am going to leave off tobacco! Surely there must be some other world in which this unconquerable purpose shall be realised.

Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid