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Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Death
Makes
Nature
Feels
Made
Never
Fearing
Men
Deaths
Thousand

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A dedication is a wooden leg.
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Angels are men of a superior kind Angels are men in lighter habit clad.
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Prayer ardent opens heaven.
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And friend received with thumps upon the back.
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
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Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
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There buds the promise of celestial worth.
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Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
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Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.
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Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled.
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We push time from us, and we wish him back * * * * * * Life we think long and short death seek and shun.
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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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I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.
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Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
Edward Young
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Pygmies are pygmies still, though percht on Alps And pyramids are pyramids in vales. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.
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Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. That only, and that amply this performs.
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The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
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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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He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
Edward Young
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We nothing know, but what is marvellous Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
Edward Young