Quote

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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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Time
Hours
Note
Knell
Sound
Strikes
Aright
Give
Tongue
Departed
Take
Notes
Bell
Feel
Angel
Solemn
Feels
Loss
Spokes
Giving
Wise
Bells
Men
Heard
Spoke

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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
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Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
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A dedication is a wooden leg.
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Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
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Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
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Give me, indulgent gods with mind serene, And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene, No splendid poverty, no smiling care, No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur, there.
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Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
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Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
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Wonder is involuntary praise.
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Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
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One to destroy, is murder by the law and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.
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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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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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Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
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