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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Literature
Men
Blushes
Blushing
Brute
Brutes
Quite

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What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
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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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The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
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Nature delights in progress in advance.
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Horace appears in good humor while he censures, and therefore his censure has the more weight, as supposed to proceed from judgment and not from passion.
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Day buries day month, month and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
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The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.
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Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.
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A God alone can comprehend a God.
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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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Friendship's the wine of life.
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Praise, more divine than prayer prayer points our ready path to heaven praise is already there.
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Be wise with speed a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
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Wonder is involuntary praise.
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The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
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The man that makes a character, makes foes.
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Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
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A land of levity is a land of guilt.
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The man of wisdom is the man of years.
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Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
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