Quote

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.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Sound
Saves
Sense
Brighter
Stills
Diamond
Still
Solid
Plume
Wit
Weighty
Casts
Exposes
Apart
Helmet
Cutting
Beam

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Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
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We nothing know, but what is marvellous Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
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Wishing of all employments is the worst
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Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
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Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.
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Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, That all men are about to live.
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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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A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him he look'd plump and fair, While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.
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There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
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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.
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This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.
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Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!
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Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. That only, and that amply this performs.
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Praise, more divine than prayer prayer points our ready path to heaven praise is already there.
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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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Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
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Time elaborately thrown away.
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Affliction is the good man's shining scene prosperity conceals his brightest ray as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
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There is nothing of which men are more liberal than their good advice, be their stock of it ever so small because it seems to carry in it an intimation of their own influence, importance or worth.
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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
Edward Young