Oliver Goldsmith

10 Nov 1728 // 4 Apr 1774
Writer, Poet


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And learn the luxury of doing good.

The land of scholars and the nurse of arms.

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

These little things are great to little man.
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel.
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine!

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.

Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view.

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po.
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On Anger: "For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind."
On Destiny: "Our destiny exercises its influence over us even when, as yet, we have not learned its nature: it is our future that lays down the law of our today."
Human, All Too Human
On Friendship: "A crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."