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Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Bales
Spoil
Shut
Psychology
Sun
Air
Thoughts
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The man of wisdom is the man of years.
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Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
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Wonder is involuntary praise.
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Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
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Oh, how portentous is prosperity! How comet-like, it threatens while it shines.
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What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
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One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.
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Truth never was indebted to a lie
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There buds the promise of celestial worth.
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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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Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes They love a train, they tread each other's heel.
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Time elaborately thrown away.
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Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . Less base the fear of death than fear of life. O Britain! infamous for suicide.
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Praise, more divine than prayer prayer points our ready path to heaven praise is already there.
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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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When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
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Affliction is a good man's shining time.
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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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Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
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What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
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