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How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Rich
Poor
Complicate
Nothing
Midway
Men
Abject
Deity
Deities
August
Wonderful

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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Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.
Edward Young
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Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
Edward Young
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The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
Edward Young
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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.
Edward Young
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
Edward Young
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Angels are men of a superior kind Angels are men in lighter habit clad.
Edward Young
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An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave legions of angels can't confine me there.
Edward Young
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There buds the promise of celestial worth.
Edward Young
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And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
Edward Young
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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
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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Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
Edward Young
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Wishing of all employments is the worst
Edward Young
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Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat defects of judgment, and the will subdue walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore of that vast ocean it must sail so soon.
Edward Young
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Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
Edward Young
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There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
Edward Young
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Think naught a trifle, though it small appear Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
Edward Young
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Man maketh a death which Nature never made.
Edward Young
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Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Edward Young