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. — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
Out of the ruined lodge and forgotten mansion, bowers that are trodden under foot, and pleasure-houses that are dust, the poet calls up a… — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
It is most absurdly said, in popular language, of any man, that he is disguised in liquor; for, on the contrary, most men are… — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
Everlasting farewells! and again, and yet again reverberated everlasting farewells! — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
Paint me an eternal tea-pot, for I usually drink tea from eight o'clock at night to four o'clock in the morning. — Thomas De Quincey Copy Share Image
It is one of the misfortunes in life that one must read thousands of books only to discover that one need not have read… — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
As is the inventor of murder, and the father of art, Cain must have been a man of first-rate genius. — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside; candles at four o'clock, warm hearthrugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters… — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
Flowers that are so pathetic in their beauty, frail as the clouds, and in their coloring as gorgeous as the heavens, had through thousands… — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
Cows are amongst the gentlest of breathing creatures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young when deprived of them; and, in short, I… — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
“If once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he next comes to… — Thomas de Quincey Copy Share Image
