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Anger makes us strong, Blind and impatient, And it leads us wrong The strength is quickly lost We feel the error long.
George Crabbe
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George Crabbe
Age: 79 †
Born: 1754
Born: December 24
Died: 1834
Died: February 3
Entomologist
Medicine
Poet
Surgeon
Writer
Aldeburgh
Suffolk
Feel
Anger
Feels
Blind
Long
Losing
Strength
Impatient
Wrong
Error
Strong
Leads
Lost
Errors
Makes
Quickly
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I grant indeed that fields and flocks have charms, For him that gazes or for him that farms.
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Beauties, when disposed to sleep, Should from the eye of keen inspector keep: The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise, May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes, And all the homely features homelier makes.
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Oh, rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.
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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
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Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain, like other farmers, flourish and complain.
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Arrogance is the act of the great presumption that of the little.
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Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, And ease of heart her every look convey'd.
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But jest apart--what virtue canst thou trace In that broad trim that hides thy sober face? Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice? Then for thine accent--what in sound can be So void of grace as dull monotony?
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In this wild world the fondest and the best Are the most tried, most troubled and distress'd.
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Virtues neglected then, adored become, And graces slighted, blossom on the tomb.
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Books cannot always please, however good Minds are not ever craving for their food.
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Whatever amuses, serves to kill time, to lull the faculties, and to banish reflection. Whatever entertains, usually awakens the understanding or gratifies the fancy. Whatever diverts, is lively in its nature, and sometimes tumultuous in its effects.
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Learning is better worth than houses or land.
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Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air.
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See Time has touched me gently in his race, And left no odious furrows in my face.
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The coward never on himself relies, But to an equal for assistance flies.
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There is no mind so weak and powerless as not to have its inclinations, and none so guarded as to be without its prepossessions.
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Against her foes Religion well defends Her sacred truths, but often fears her friends.
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Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme? Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread, By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?
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Tis easiest dealing with the firmest mind-- More just when it resists, and, when it yields, more kind.
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