When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees
Edward YoungWhat is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too.
Edward YoungO! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
Edward Young