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Thomas De Quincey
Quote #3
The burden of the incommunicable.
More from Thomas De Quincey
If once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sab…
Call for the grandest of all earthly spectacles, what is that? It is the sun going to his rest. Call for the grandest of all human sentimen…
Dyspepsy is the ruin of most things: empires, expeditions, and everything else.
So, then, Oxford Street, stonyhearted stepmother, thou that listenest to the sighs of orphans, and drinkest the tears of children, at lengt…
Cows are amongst the gentlest of breathing creatures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young when deprived of them; and, in sh…
Flowers ... that are so pathetic in their beauty, frail as the clouds, and in their colouring as gorgeous as the heavens, had through thous…
Thou hast the keys of Paradise, oh just, subtle, and mighty opium!
It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless; and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London.
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