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Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Peace
Thrice
Archer
Suffice
Horn
Horns
Flew
Filled
Shaft
Moon
Slain

More quotes by Edward Young

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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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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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By all means use some time to be alone.
Edward Young
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Where Nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind.
Edward Young
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Think naught a trifle, though it small appear Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
Edward Young
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A dedication is a wooden leg.
Edward Young
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What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
Edward Young
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Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
Edward Young
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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
Edward Young
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The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and an honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death he walks with nature and her paths are peace.
Edward Young
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Old men love novelties the last arriv'd Still pleases best the youngest steals their smiles.
Edward Young
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Read nature nature is a friend to truth.
Edward Young
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What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
Edward Young
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Be wise with speed a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
Edward Young
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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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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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An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave legions of angels can't confine me there.
Edward Young
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A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him he look'd plump and fair, While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.
Edward Young
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
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