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Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Work
Fools
Men
Mortals
Reform
Lays
Fool
Idlers
Tomorrow
Reformation
Hold
Procrastination
Heaven
Mortal

More quotes by Edward Young

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And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
Edward Young
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What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind And while it satisfies, it censures too.
Edward Young
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Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
Edward Young
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It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!
Edward Young
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O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
Edward Young
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Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
Edward Young
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Man maketh a death which Nature never made.
Edward Young
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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.
Edward Young
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How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Edward Young
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Pity swells the tide of love.
Edward Young
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Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
Edward Young
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Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
Edward Young
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Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor who lives to fancy, never can be rich.
Edward Young
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But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
Edward Young
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Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
Edward Young
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Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?
Edward Young
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Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.
Edward Young
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A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
Edward Young
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What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
Edward Young
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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.
Edward Young