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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
Thoughts
Like
Bales
Spoil
Shut
Psychology
Sun
Air

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A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
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Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
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One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.
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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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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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Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.
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What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
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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 ardently we wish, we soon believe.
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
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The man of wisdom is the man of years.
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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
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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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Pity swells the tide of love.
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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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Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
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Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
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Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
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Prayer ardent opens heaven.
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Man wants little, nor that little long.
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