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Think naught a trifle, though it small appear Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Years
Trifles
Make
Stands
Think
Appear
Thinking
Mountain
Life
Small
Year
Though
Trifle
Moments
Naught

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An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave legions of angels can't confine me there.
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There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
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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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Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
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Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.
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Time elaborately thrown away.
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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
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The purpose firm is equal to the deed
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Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
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Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, That all men are about to live.
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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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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
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Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
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Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
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Affliction is a good man's shining time.
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A dedication is a wooden leg.
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