For nations vague as weed, For nomads among stones,...
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by Spoon Rivergathering many a shell, And many a flower and medicinal weed—...
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Slavery is a weed that grows on every soil.
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There are two modes of criticism. One which crushes to earth without mercy all the humble buds of Phantasy, all the plants that, though green and fruitful, are also a prey to insects or have suffered by drought. It weeds well the garden, and cannot believe the weed in its native soil may be a pretty, graceful plant. There is another mode which enters into the natural history of every thing that breathes and lives, which believes no impulse to be entirely in vain, which scrutinizes circumstances, motive and object before it condemns, and believes there is a beauty in natural form, if its law and purpose be understood.
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Love, the strongest and deepest element in all life, the harbinger of hope, of joy, of ecstasy; love, the defier of all laws, of all conventions; love, the freest, the most powerful molder of human destiny; how can such an all-compelling force be synonymous with that poor little State and Church-begotten weed, marriage?
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Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.
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I attribute the quarrelsome nature of the Middle Ages young men entirely to the want of the soothing weed.
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There are some faults so nearly allied to excellence that we can scarce weed out the vice without eradicating the virtue.
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Bamboo is not a weed, it's a flowering plant. Bamboo is a magnificent plant.
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Today we may face some boring task or idle conversation that feels like a complete waste of time. Perhaps next week or next year we'll understand that nothing is wasted, that in the economy of our universe even a weed is simply a flower whose use has yet to be discovered.
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I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens.
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They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.
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Live neither in the present nor the future, but in the eternal. The giant weed (of evil) cannot flower there this blot upon existence is wiped out by the very atmosphere of eternal thought.
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Thus may we gather honey from the weed And make a moral of the devil himself.
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Some faults are so closely allied to qualities that it is difficult to weed out the vice without eradicating the virtue.
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The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
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What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered
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A weed is an unloved flower.
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Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more a man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out.
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If at first you don't succeed, fuck the world and smoke some weed.
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'I'm thinkin about takin my own life, I might aswell. Except they might not sell weed in hell...
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Plant and your spouse plants with you; weed and you weed alone.
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A weed is just a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.
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A weed is a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.
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What is a weed A plant whose virtues have never been discovered.
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Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more man's nature runs to the more ought law to weed it out.
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What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have never been discovered.
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