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When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Tree
Apace
Joy
Sickly
Age
Joys
Fall
Autumn
Men
Yellow
Trees
Leaves
Reach

More quotes by Edward Young

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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.
Edward Young
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A dedication is a wooden leg.
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It is great and manly to disdain disguise it shows our spirit and proves our strength.
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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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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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Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
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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.
Edward Young
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Day buries day month, month and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
Edward Young
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He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
Edward Young
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Time elaborately thrown away.
Edward Young
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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
Edward Young
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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.
Edward Young
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The purpose firm is equal to the deed
Edward Young
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There buds the promise of celestial worth.
Edward Young
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Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
Edward Young
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Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Edward Young
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Read nature nature is a friend to truth.
Edward Young
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Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?
Edward Young
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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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Angels are men of a superior kind Angels are men in lighter habit clad.
Edward Young