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In this wild world the fondest and the best Are the most tried, most troubled and distress'd.

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
Tried
Best
World
Fondest
Troubled
Distress
Adversity
Wild

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Experience finds few of the scenes that lively hope designs.
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To show the world what long experience gains, requires not courage, though it calls for pains but at life's outset to inform mankind is a bold effort of a valiant mind.
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Arrogance is the act of the great presumption that of the little.
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Books cannot always please, however good Minds are not ever craving for their food.
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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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Tis easiest dealing with the firmest mind-- More just when it resists, and, when it yields, more kind.
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A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook.
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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
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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.
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An infatuated man is not only foolish, but wild.
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Life's bloomy flush was lost.
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In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves.
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Blest be the gracious Power, who taught mankind To stamp a lasting image of the mind! Beasts may convey, and tuneful birds may sing, Their mutual feelings, in the opening spring But Man alone has skill and power to send The heart's warm dictates to the distant friend 'Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise Ages remote, and nations yet to rise.
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And took for truth the test of ridicule.
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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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With eye upraised his master's look to scan, The joy, the solace, and the aid of man: The rich man's guardian and the poor man's friend, The only creature faithful to the end.
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We cannot heal the throbbing heart till we discern the wounds within.
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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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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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