"How blessings brighten as they take their flight."
"Born originals, how comes it to pass that we die copies? That meddling ape imitation, as soon as we come to years of indiscretion, (so let me speak,) snatches the pen, and blots out nature's mark of separation, cancels her kind intention, destroys all mental individuality. The lettered world no longer consists of singulars: it is a medley, a mass; and a hundred books, at bottom, are but one."
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Source: Edward Young, John Doran (1854). “The complete works, poetry and prose, of ... Edward Young. Revised [by J. Nichols]. To which is prefixed, a life of the author, by J. Doran”, p.561
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"Too low they build who build below the skies."
"Narcissus is the glory of his race: For who does nothing with a better grace?."
"A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs."
"How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!"
"Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven."