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'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Reports
Wise
Asks
Talk
Hours
Bore
Heaven
Greatly
Past
Bores
Report

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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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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Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
Edward Young
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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.
Edward Young
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Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
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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A God alone can comprehend a God.
Edward Young
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We push time from us, and we wish him back * * * * * * Life we think long and short death seek and shun.
Edward Young
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What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
Edward Young
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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
Edward Young
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He sins against this life, who slights the next.
Edward Young
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The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.
Edward Young
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Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows Does well, acts nobly angels could no more.
Edward Young
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Nature delights in progress in advance.
Edward Young
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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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It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!
Edward Young
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Titles are marks of honest men, and wise The fool or knave that wears a title lies.
Edward Young
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How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!
Edward Young
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Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.
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