Edward Young
Edward Young
Edward Youngwas an English poet, best remembered for Night-Thoughts...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth3 July 1683
song lying dust
Why 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.
splinters fame satire
Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.
cutting sound beam
Sense 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.
book years individuality
Born originals, how comes it to pass that we die copies? That meddling ape imitation, as soon as we come to years of indiscretion, (so let me speak,) snatches the pen, and blots out nature's mark of separation, cancels her kind intention, destroys all mental individuality. The lettered world no longer consists of singulars: it is a medley, a mass; and a hundred books, at bottom, are but one.
science deities evolution
Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
sweet reason instinct
Sweet instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.
life fate men
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.
fall men pyramids
Pygmies 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.
friendship
And friend received with thumps upon the back.
strong wine lost-friendship
Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.
inspirational sweet flow
On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
character men he-man
The man that makes a character, makes foes.
peace archer moon
Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.
men mind language
Where Nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind.