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Deceivers are the most dangerous members of society. They trifle with the best affections of our nature, and violate the most sacred obligations.

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
Lying
Trifles
Society
Deceit
Deceivers
Nature
Deception
Deceiver
Best
Obligation
Trifle
Affection
Violate
Sacred
Affections
Members
Dishonesty
Dangerous
Obligations

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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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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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A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook.
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Oh how the passions, insolent and strong, Bear our weak minds their rapid course along Make us the madness of their will obey Then die and leave us to our griefs as prey!
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Books cannot always please, however good Minds are not ever craving for their food.
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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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Soldiers in arms! Defenders of our soil! Who from destruction save us who from spoil Protect the sons of peace, who traffic or who toil Would I could duly praise you, that each deed Your foe's might honor, and your friends might read.
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Shall he who soars, inspired by loftier views, Life's little cares and little pains refuse? Shall he not rather feel a double share Of mortal woe, when doubly arm'd to bear?
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Learning is better worth than houses or land.
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In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves.
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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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Life's bloomy flush was lost.
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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.
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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
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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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Ability comprehends the power of doing in general, without specifying the quality or degree.
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The gentle fair on nervous tea relies, Whilst gay good-nature sparkles in her eyes An inoffensive scandal fluttering round, Too rough to tickle, and too light to wound.
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