More about John Clare
John Clare -
6 Sourced Quotes
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Language has not the power to
speak what love indites:
The soul lies buried
in the ink that writes.
In politics and politicians' lies
The modern farmer waxes wondrous wise;
Loud is the summer's busy song
The smallest breeze can find a tongue,
While insects of each tiny size
Grow teasing with their melodies,
Till noon burns with its blistering breath
Around, and day lies still as death.
I hid my love when young till I
Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;
I hid my love to my despite
Till I could not bear to look at light:
I dare not gaze upon her face
But left her memory in each place;
Where eer I saw a wild flower lie
I kissed and bade my love good bye.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator God
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below, above, the vaulted sky.
Till kicked and torn and beaten out he lies
And leaves his hold and cackles, groans, and dies.
Quote of the day
When a scientist is ahead of his times, it is often through misunderstanding of current, rather than intuition of future truth. In science there is never any error so gross that it won't one day, from some perspective, appear prophetic.
July 13, 1793
May 20, 1864
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Predictions that didn't happen
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Remarkable Last Words (or Near-Last Words)
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