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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

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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor who lives to fancy, never can be rich.
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Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
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Oh, how portentous is prosperity! How comet-like, it threatens while it shines.
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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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What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind And while it satisfies, it censures too.
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It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!
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Angels are men of a superior kind Angels are men in lighter habit clad.
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One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.
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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.
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A Christian is the highest style of man.
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By night an atheist half-believes in God.
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A land of levity is a land of guilt.
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Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
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Pity swells the tide of love.
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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.
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There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
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The man that makes a character, makes foes.
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Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
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Virtue alone has majesty in death.
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