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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
Done
Baking
Long
Unified
Never
Pie
Quite
Literature
Future
Dream
Seems
Mince

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Where Nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind.
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By all means use some time to be alone.
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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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The purpose firm is equal to the deed
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Old men love novelties the last arriv'd Still pleases best the youngest steals their smiles.
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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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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.
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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.
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The man that makes a character, makes foes.
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Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.
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Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
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He sins against this life, who slights the next.
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Read nature nature is a friend to truth.
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Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
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But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
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What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
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Affliction is a good man's shining time.
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As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
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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 destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
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