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Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Final
Finals
Creation
Society
Fiercely
Drives
Ruin
Ruins

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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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'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
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Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
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He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
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Nature delights in progress in advance.
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The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss it breaks at every breeze.
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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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Friendship's the wine of life.
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Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
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How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
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What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
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When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees
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Unlearned men of books assume the care, As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair.
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When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
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How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!
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Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
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Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!
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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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