Charles Lamb Quotes

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.

Do you know what people want more than anything? They want to be missed. They want to be missed the day they don't show up. They want to be missed when they're gone.

I'm a million miles away, and at the same time I'm right here in your picture frame.

It takes time for the absent to assume their true shape in our thoughts.

Absence becomes the greatest Presence.

The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.

To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost.

Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.

I don't know what this feather means, the story of it, but I know it means he was thinking of me. For all these years. He remembered me.

I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?

After departure, only invisible things are left, perhaps the life of the world is held together by invisible chains of memory and loss and love. So many things, so many people, depart! And we can only repossess them in our minds.

Long since, the desert wind wiped away our footprints in the sand. But at every second of my existence, I remember what happened, and you still walk in my dreams and in my reality. Thank you for having crossed my path.

Remember me in your dreams, as I will you.

You, Beloved, who are all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing. An open window in a country house - , and you almost stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon, - you had just walked down them and vanished. And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening.

How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

It's not a struggle, but sometimes when you're gone for a month or two, you start to miss your friends. I love acting so much that it fills that gap of being sad about not being able to see my friends.

He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.

I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you.

The bat is gone, but the smile remains.

Yes, the meeting of dear friends atones for the regret of separation; and like it so much enhances affection, that after absence one wonders how one has been able to stay away from them so long.

If I had any advice to give to anybody, it would be record your parents talking so that, when you're longing to hear that voice, you can play the tape. But for me, it's a little often. You don't always need to be reminded that he isn't here anymore.

I miss my family all the time.

If the portraits of our absent friends are pleasant to us, which renew our memory of them and relieve our regret for their absence by a false and empty consolation, how much more pleasant are letters which bring us the written characters of the absent friend.

I am away from home and must always write home, even if any home of mine has long since floated away into eternity.