Ah! what is human life? How, like the dial's tardy-moving shade, Day after day slides from us unperceiv'd! The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth; Too subtle is the movement to be seen; Yet soon the hour is up--and we are gone.
Edward YoungThis is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.
Edward YoungWhat is revenge but courage to call in our honor's debts, and wisdom to convert others' self-love into our own protection?
Edward YoungHeaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himselfThat hideous sight,-a naked human heart.
Edward YoungWhat tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
Edward YoungThe clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
Edward YoungHe that's ungrateful has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
Edward YoungWe wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.
Edward YoungEach moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.
Edward YoungSense is our helmet, wit is but the plume; The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
Edward YoungBut love, like wine, gives a tumultuous bliss, Heighten'd indeed beyond all mortal pleasures; But mingles pangs and madness in the bowl.
Edward YoungThe love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.
Edward YoungSome wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.
Edward YoungTomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
Edward YoungCreation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
Edward YoungMen should press forward, in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.
Edward YoungYouth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.
Edward Young