Nothing puzzles me more than time and space; and yet nothing troubles me less, as I never think about them.

Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.

Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.

So near are the boundaries of panegyric and invective, that a worn-out sinner is sometimes found to make the best declaimer against sin. The same high-seasoned descriptions which in his unregenerate state served to inflame his appetites, in his new province of a moralist will serve him (a little turned) to expose the enormity of those appetites in other men.

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

Coleridge declares that a man cannot have a good conscience who refuses apple dumplings, and I confess that I am of the same opinion.

Returning to town in the stage-coach, which was filled with Mr. Gilman's guests, we stopped for a minute or two at Kentish Town. A woman asked the 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. Gilman's did the business for me."