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Truth never was indebted to a lie

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Indebted
Literature
Lying
Truth
Never

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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
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The course of Nature is the art of God
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Man wants little, nor that little long.
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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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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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Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
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Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
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Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
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At thirty, man suspects himself a fool Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.
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We nothing know, but what is marvellous Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
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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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Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Edward Young
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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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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.
Edward Young
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A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
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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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Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Edward Young
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The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.
Edward Young
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Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled.
Edward Young