Edward Young Quotes - Page 9
Oh, how portentous is prosperity! How comet-like, it threatens while it shines.
Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.
We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile - The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry
When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees
Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
In chambers deep, Where waters sleep, What unknown treasures pave the floor.
Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, United jar, and yet are loth to part.
Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.