Edward Young Quotes

Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, how complicate, how wonderful is man! Distinguished link in being's endless chain! Midway from nothing to the Deity! Dim miniature of greatness absolute! An heir of glory! A frail child of dust! Helpless immortal! Insect infinite! A worm! A God!

The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.

With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.

Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise

Truth never was indebted to a lie

Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

Horace appears in good humor while he censures, and therefore his censure has the more weight, as supposed to proceed from judgment and not from passion.

Pity swells the tide of love.

The man of wisdom is the man of years.

A prince indebted is a fortune made.

They build too low who build beneath the skies.

Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.

Sweet instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.

Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?

A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires.

Angels are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad.

To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain.

Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.

Prayer ardent opens heaven.

Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.

A God all mercy is a God unjust.

Mine is the night, with all her stars.

One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.

A death-bed's a detector of the heart.

Leisure is pain; take off our chariot wheels; how heavily we drag the load of life!

It is great and manly to disdain disguise; it shows our spirit and proves our strength.

Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.

The man that makes a character, makes foes.

This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.

'T is impious in a good man to be sad.

Nature delights in progress; in advance.

There buds the promise of celestial worth.

I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.

Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.

Narcissus is the glory of his race: For who does nothing with a better grace?.

Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.

Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They'll find that their Religion has been one.

Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!

Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, United jar, and yet are loth to part.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.

Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.

Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.

Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?

Nothing but what astonishes is true.

Beautiful as sweet, And young as beautiful, and soft as young, And gay as soft, and innocent as gay!