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The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Literature
Future
Dream
Seems
Mince
Done
Baking
Long
Unified
Never
Pie
Quite

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Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
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When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees
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Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
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What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
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Wishing of all employments is the worst
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There is nothing of which men are more liberal than their good advice, be their stock of it ever so small because it seems to carry in it an intimation of their own influence, importance or worth.
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A God alone can comprehend a God.
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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.
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When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
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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.
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Praise, more divine than prayer prayer points our ready path to heaven praise is already there.
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But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
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Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.
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Affliction is the good man's shining scene prosperity conceals his brightest ray as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
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Wonder is involuntary praise.
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
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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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Titles are marks of honest men, and wise The fool or knave that wears a title lies.
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Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled.
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Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
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