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None think the great unhappy, but the great.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Think
Thinking
Unhappy
Greatness
None
Great

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On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
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Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
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Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?
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It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!
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Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
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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.
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Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
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Day buries day month, month and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
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Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
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What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
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When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
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Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
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He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
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What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind And while it satisfies, it censures too.
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Old men love novelties the last arriv'd Still pleases best the youngest steals their smiles.
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The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
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The course of Nature is the art of God
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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.
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A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him he look'd plump and fair, While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.
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