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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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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Year
Many
Years
Buries
Life
Deaths
Chain
Month
Chains
Months

More quotes by Edward Young

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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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We nothing know, but what is marvellous Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
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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O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
Edward Young
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Horace appears in good humor while he censures, and therefore his censure has the more weight, as supposed to proceed from judgment and not from passion.
Edward Young
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A God alone can comprehend a God.
Edward Young
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And friend received with thumps upon the back.
Edward Young
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Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.
Edward Young
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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.
Edward Young
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Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
Edward Young
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We push time from us, and we wish him back * * * * * * Life we think long and short death seek and shun.
Edward Young
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The spirit walks of every day deceased.
Edward Young
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A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
Edward Young
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'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
Edward Young
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Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes They love a train, they tread each other's heel.
Edward Young
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The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
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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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.
Edward Young
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
Edward Young
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The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
Edward Young