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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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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Forth
Sceptre
Night
Leaden
World
Slumbering
Stretches
Throne
Thrones
Majesty
Goddess
Sable

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The soft whispers of the God in man.
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Wishing of all employments is the worst
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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
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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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Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
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Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor who lives to fancy, never can be rich.
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'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
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Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!
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Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled.
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At thirty, man suspects himself a fool Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.
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Angels are men of a superior kind Angels are men in lighter habit clad.
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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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What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
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Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
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Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
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One to destroy, is murder by the law and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.
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A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
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Friendship's the wine of life.
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Men are but men we did not make ourselves.
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Think naught a trifle, though it small appear Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
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