Charles Lamb often complained of not being able to think on his own. “I dare not think, lest I [should think] wrong,” he told Dorothy Wordsworth in 1805, when his sister, Mary, disappeared once more into the local madhouse. “I am like a [fool, bere]ft of her co-operation.” The death in 1834 of Coleridge, his […]
Source : ‘So Whimsical a Head’
