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An infatuated man is not only foolish, but wild.

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
Infatuated
Infatuation
Foolish
Wild
Men

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Dreams are like portraits and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.
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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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What is a church? Let Truth and reason speak, They would reply, The faithful, pure and meek, From Christian folds, the one selected race, Of all professions, and in every place.
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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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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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To the house of a friend if you're pleased to retire, You must all things admit, you must all things admire You must pay with observance the price of your treat, You must eat what is praised, and must praise what you eat.
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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
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Men of many words sometimes argue for the sake of talking men of ready tongues frequently dispute for the sake of victory men in public life often debate for the sake of opposing the ruling party, or from any other motive than the love of truth.
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Arrogance is the act of the great presumption that of the little.
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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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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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Life's bloomy flush was lost.
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And took for truth the test of ridicule.
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Books cannot always please, however good Minds are not ever craving for their food.
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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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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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Life is not measured by the time we live.
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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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In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves.
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Circles in water as they wider flow The less conspicuous in their progress grow, And when at last they trench upon the shore, Distinction ceases and they're view'd no more.
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