Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.

Can we ring the bells backward? Can we unlearn the arts that pretend to civilize, and then burn the world? There is a march of science; but who shall beat the drums for its retreat?

When I am not walking, I am reading. I cannot sit and think.

The trumpet does not more stun you by its loudness, than a whisper teases you by its provoking inaudibility.

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."

His voice was the most obnoxious squeak I ever was tormented with.

The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.