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."

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

To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.

I am in love with the green earth.

I cannot sit and think; books think for me.

Positively, the best thing a man can have to do, is nothing, and next to that perhaps — good works.

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.