Edward Young quotes:

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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
The maid that loves goes out to sea upon a shattered plank, and puts her trust in miracles for safety.
Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.
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.
Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.
Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . Less base the fear of death than fear of life. O Britain! infamous for suicide.
Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform.
The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done.
The course of Nature is the art of God.
Still seems it strange, that thou shouldst live forever? Is it less strange, that thou shouldst live at all? This is a miracle; and that no more.
Virtue alone has majesty in death.
The weak have remedies, the wise have joys; superior wisdom is superior bliss.
The man that makes a character, makes foes.
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.
Much learning shows how little mortals know; much wealth, how little wordings enjoy.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
By all means use some time to be alone.
The house of laughter makes a house of woe.
By night an atheist half believes in a God.
Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
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.
On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.
The spirit walks of every day deceased.
A God all mercy is a God unjust.
Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
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.
Distinguisht Link in Being's endless Chain! Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
Narcissus is the glory of his race: For who does nothing with a better grace?.
A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
By night an atheist half believes in a God
Be wise with speed a fool at forty is a fool indeed
Suara hati adalah bisikan lembut Tuhan kepada manusia.
Affliction is a good man's shining time.
The first sure symptom of a mind in health Is rest of heart and pleasure felt at home.
Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.
Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise.
Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.
Ah, how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!
Procrastination is the thief of time.
Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat defects of judgment, and the will subdue; walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore of that vast ocean it must sail so soon.
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.
When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees
They only babble who practise not reflection.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
Truth never was indebted to a lie.
Wonder is involuntary praise.
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.
Wise it is to comprehend the whole.
A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.
All men think all men mortal, but themselves.
Too low they build who build below the skies.
Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
And friend received with thumps upon the back.
It is great and manly to disdain disguise; it shows our spirit and proves our strength.
Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast.
Creation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.
Nothing in Nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself.
Wishing of all employments is the worst
Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise
Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.
The purpose firm is equal to the deed
The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.
Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.
Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
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.
O let me be undone the common way, And have the common comfort to be pity'd, And not be ruin'd in the mask of bliss, And so be envy'd, and be wretched too!
When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.
Youth 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.
Some 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.
A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.
The booby father craves a booby son, And by Heaven's blessing thinks himself undone.
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.
This 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.
A God alone can comprehend a God.
A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires.
Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.
Old men love novelties; the last arriv'd Still pleases best; the youngest steals their smiles.
Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.
Not all the pride of beauty; Those eyes, that tell us what the sun is made of; Those lips, whose touch is to be bought with life; Those hills of driven snow, which seen are felt: All these possessed are nought, but as they are The proof, the substance of an inward passion, And the rich plunder of a taken heart.
Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
Live now; be damn'd hereafter.
Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
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.
Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.
They build too low who build beneath the skies.
And all may do what has by man been done.
None think the great unhappy, but the great.
Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.
Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
Men should press forward, in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.
The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.
Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?
O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
A strange alternative * * *Must women have a doctor or a dance?
They most the world enjoy who least admire.
Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.
As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.
Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himselfThat hideous sight,-a naked human heart.
Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.
We are not all great because we are inspired, but we feel great because we are.
Angels are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad.

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