Quotes from young edward iii

Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.

Pride, like hooded hawks, in darkness soars From blindness bold, and towering to the skies.

Our thoughts are heard in heaven.

He rams his quill with scandal and with scoff, But 'tis so very foul, it won't go off.

Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.

Has the dark adder venom? So have I, When trod upon.

Death joins us to the great majority.

When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.

Ten thousand fools, knaves, cowards, lump'd together, Become all-wise, all-righteous, and all-mighty.

In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!

He that lives in perpetual suspicion lives the life of a sentinel--of a sentinel never relieved, whose business it is to look out for and expect an enemy, which is an evil not very far short of perishing by him.

Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.

If he provokes a war, his empire shakes, And all her lofty glories nod to ruin.

'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.

Yet man, fool man! here buries all his thoughts; Inters celestial hopes without one sigh. Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, Here pinions all his wishes.

What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too.

Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.