Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. That only, and that amply this performs.
Edward YoungBlest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.
Edward YoungIt calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!
Edward YoungDay buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
Edward YoungO let me be undone the common way, And have the common comfort to be pity'd, And not be ruin'd in the mask of bliss, And so be envy'd, and be wretched too!
Edward YoungThe man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
Edward YoungOne to destroy, is murder by the law; and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.
Edward YoungWho gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
Edward YoungAs in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.
Edward YoungProcrastination is the thief of time; year after year it steals, till all are fled, and to the mercies of a moment leaves the vast concerns of an eternal state. At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; at fifty chides his infamous delay, pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; in all the magnanimity of thought, resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same.
Edward YoungWhat is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too.
Edward YoungGive me, indulgent gods with mind serene, And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene, No splendid poverty, no smiling care, No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur, there.
Edward YoungDeath! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.
Edward YoungThe maid that loves goes out to sea upon a shattered plank, and puts her trust in miracles for safety.
Edward YoungHow poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!
Edward YoungA man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him; he look'd plump and fair, While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.
Edward YoungIn an active life is sown the seed of wisdom; but he who reflects not, never reaps; has no harvest from it, but carries the burden of age without the wages of experience; nor knows himself old, but from his infirmities, the parish register, and the contempt of mankind. And age, if it has not esteem, has nothing.
Edward YoungThe future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
Edward YoungPygmies are pygmies still, though percht on Alps; And pyramids are pyramids in vales. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids; Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.
Edward YoungThe blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
Edward YoungIf we did but know how little some enjoy of the great things that they possess, there would not be much envy in the world.
Edward YoungThink naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
Edward YoungWhy all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.
Edward Young