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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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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Gratitude
Gift
Gives
Procures
Instead
Defeats
Ends
Empire
Giving
Empires
Contempt
Defeat
More quotes by Edward Young
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave legions of angels can't confine me there.
Edward Young
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.
Edward Young
What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
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Affliction is a good man's shining time.
Edward Young
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
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Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
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As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Edward Young
Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
Edward Young
It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!
Edward Young
Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled.
Edward Young
A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
Edward Young
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
Edward Young
Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.
Edward Young
Pygmies are pygmies still, though percht on Alps And pyramids are pyramids in vales. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.
Edward Young
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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The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss it breaks at every breeze.
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Read nature nature is a friend to truth.
Edward Young
By all means use some time to be alone.
Edward Young
A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
Edward Young