Maxioms by Edward Young
A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown,
Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown,
Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
Procrastination is the thief of time: Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of read more
Procrastination is the thief of time: Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene
Who does the best that circumstance allows,
Does well, acts nobly, angels could no more.
Who does the best that circumstance allows,
Does well, acts nobly, angels could no more.
Like birds, whose beauties languish half concealed,
Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes
Expanded, shine read more
Like birds, whose beauties languish half concealed,
Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes
Expanded, shine with azure, green and gold;
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
