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Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Brother
Leave
Within
Poor
Heart
Would
Renown
Sting
Smart

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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.
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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.
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Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
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Affliction is the good man's shining scene prosperity conceals his brightest ray as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
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There buds the promise of celestial worth.
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Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
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The man that makes a character, makes foes.
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Be wise with speed a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
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Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor who lives to fancy, never can be rich.
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The man of wisdom is the man of years.
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The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
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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.
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We nothing know, but what is marvellous Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
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Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
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Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
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What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
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And friend received with thumps upon the back.
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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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The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
Edward Young