George Crabbe Quotes

The face the index of a feeling mind.

‘The game,’ said he, ‘is never lost till won.’

He tried the luxury of doing good.

He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce, And loved to stop beside the opening sluice; Where the small stream, confined in narrow bound, Ran with a dull, unvaried, sad’ning sound; Where all presented to the eye or ear, Oppressed the soul! with misery, grief, and fear.

That all was wrong because not all was right.

There anchoring, Peter chose from man to hide, There hang his head, and view the lazy tide In its hot slimy channel slowly glide; Where the small eels that left the deeper way For the warm shore, within the shallows play; Where gaping mussels, left upon the mud, Slope their slow passage to the fallen flood.