Edward Young
Edward Young
Edward Youngwas an English poet, best remembered for Night-Thoughts...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth3 July 1683
despise thyself
Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise
began believe chance courage develop fast fill gave glow happiness kinds limited looked mind placed rid tangled treating tried truths tune warm zeal
I had looked for happiness in fast living, but it was not there. I tried to find it in money, but it was not there either. But when I placed myself in tune with what I believe to be the fundamental truths of life, when I began to develop my limited ability, to rid my mind of all kinds of tangled thoughts, and fill it with zeal and courage and love, when I gave myself a chance by treating myself decently and sensibly, I began to feel the stimulating, warm glow of happiness.
song lying dust
Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.
men conscience
The soft whispers of the God in man.
wise lying skills
A dearth of words a woman need not fear; But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear: In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows and makes you both polite and wise.
men caught cruelty
Inhumanity is caught from man, From smiling man.
echoes whispering world
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
sweet quality body
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.
hours eternity poor
And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
race doe glory
Narcissus is the glory of his race: For who does nothing with a better grace?.
hope two miracle
Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
splinters fame satire
Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.
dark dull sun
However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.
cutting sound beam
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.