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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
Throne
Thrones
Majesty
Goddess
Sable
Forth
Sceptre
Night
Leaden
World
Slumbering
Stretches

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Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
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Old men love novelties the last arriv'd Still pleases best the youngest steals their smiles.
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It is great and manly to disdain disguise it shows our spirit and proves our strength.
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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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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
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The spirit walks of every day deceased.
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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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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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Angels are men of a superior kind Angels are men in lighter habit clad.
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Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
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When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
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Nature delights in progress in advance.
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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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The man that makes a character, makes foes.
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Men are but men we did not make ourselves.
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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.
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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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Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
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Friendship's the wine of life.
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