How blessings brighten as they take their flight.— Edward Young
The most practical Edward Young quotes that may be undiscovered and unusual
Procrastination is the thief of time.
The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art,Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
Leisure is pain; take off our chariot wheels; how heavily we drag the load of life!
Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.
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.
Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun.
One 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.
But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
Titles are marks of honest men, and wise; The fool or knave that wears a title lies.
In 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.
By night an atheist half believes in God.
Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
Unlearned men of books assume the care, As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair.
Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.
The man that makes a character, makes foes.
At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.
Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.
We rise in glory, as we sink in pride:Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
Much learning shows how little mortals know; much wealth, how little wordings enjoy.
Virtue alone has majesty in death.
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!
Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind;
And while it satisfies, it censures too.
We are all born originals - why is it so many of us die copies?
By all means use some time to be alone.
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
A God all mercy is a God unjust.
Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?
Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
Man maketh a death which Nature never made.
Those who build beneath the stars build too low.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
Affliction is a good man's shining time.
For her own breakfast she 'll project a scheme,Nor take her tea without a stratagem.