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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
Creation
Society
Fiercely
Drives
Ruin
Ruins
Final
Finals

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A God alone can comprehend a God.
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What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
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Prayer ardent opens heaven.
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Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
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None think the great unhappy, but the great.
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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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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.
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A land of levity is a land of guilt.
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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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How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!
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A dedication is a wooden leg.
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The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
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Virtue alone has majesty in death.
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Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
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Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
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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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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
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Wishing of all employments is the worst
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On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
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