Will Young
Will Young
William Robert "Will" Youngis an English singer-songwriter and actor who came to prominence after winning the 2002 inaugural series of the British music contest Pop Idol, making him the first winner of the worldwide Idol franchise. His double A-sided debut single "Anything Is Possible" / "Evergreen" was released two weeks after the show's finale and became the fastest-selling debut single in the UK. Young also came in fifth place in World Idol performing his single "Light My Fire"...
ProfessionPop Singer
Date of Birth20 January 1979
CityWokingham, England
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.
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.
Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.
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.
Blest 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.
We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
In an active life is sown the seed of wisdom... And age, if it has not esteem, has nothing.
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.
However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.
Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.
The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.
Nothing in Nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself.
'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.