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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.

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
Around
Tread
Mansions
Awe
Lasting
Silent
Dead
Walks

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A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook.
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An infatuated man is not only foolish, but wild.
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Learning is better worth than houses or land.
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The coward never on himself relies, But to an equal for assistance flies.
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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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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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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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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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Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.
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Dreams are like portraits and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.
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Lawyers Are: By law's dark by-ways he has stored his mind with wicked knowledge on how to cheat mankind.
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Books cannot always please, however good Minds are not ever craving for their food.
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Life is not measured by the time we live.
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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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Temp'rate in every place--abroad, at home, Thence will applause, and hence will profit come And health from either--he in time prepares For sickness, age, and their attendant cares.
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Ability comprehends the power of doing in general, without specifying the quality or degree.
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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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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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Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ His wife he cabined with him and his boy, And seemed that life laborious to enjoy.
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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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