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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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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Soul
Sallies
Think
Manly
Thinking
Solitude
Noble
Virtue
Alone
Lost
Thought

More quotes by Edward Young

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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.
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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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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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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Man maketh a death which Nature never made.
Edward Young
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He sins against this life, who slights the next.
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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It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!
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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Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
Edward Young
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How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Edward Young
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
Edward Young
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By all means use some time to be alone.
Edward Young
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There buds the promise of celestial worth.
Edward Young
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Truth never was indebted to a lie
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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Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.
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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Oh, how portentous is prosperity! How comet-like, it threatens while it shines.
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