Date: 1743

"This forager on others' wisdom, leaves / Her native farm, her reason, quite untill'd."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"When Sorrow wounds the breast, as ploughs the glebe, / And hearts obdurate feel her softening shower; / Her seed celestial, then, glad Wisdom sows; / Her golden harvest triumphs in the soil."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"I'll range the plenteous intellectual field; / And gather every thought of sovereign power, / To chase the moral maladies of man; / Thoughts which may bear transplanting to the skies, / Though natives of this coarse penurious soil; / Nor wholly wither there, where seraphs sing, / Refined, exalte...

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"I shall, having now crack'd the Shell of my Spleen against the Town, come to the Kernel of Reason, and present 'em this little sweet Nut of theirs, worm-eaten to the Sight, imbitter'd to their Taste, and abhorr'd to their Imaginations, as Shakespear terms it."

— Garrick, David (1717-1779)

Date: 1744

"A serious mind is the native soil of every virtue, and the single character that does true honour to mankind."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"As Love of Pleasure is ordain'd to guard / And feed our bodies, and extend our race; / The Love of Praise is planted to protect / And propagate the glories of the mind."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"The thorns shoot up! What thorns in every thought! / Why sense of better? It embitters worse."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744, 1753

"Thus my fancied Friends became my Plagues, and my real ones, by their Sufferings, tore up my Heart by the Roots, and frightened me into the bearing the insolent Persecutions of the others--I found my Mind in such Chains as are much worse than any Slavery of the Body."

— Fielding, Sarah (1710-1768)

Date: 1744, 1772, 1795

"Call now to mind what high capacious powers / Lie folded up in man; how far beyond / The praise of mortals, may the eternal growth / Of nature to perfection half divine, / Expand the blooming soul?"

— Akenside, Mark (1720-1771)

Date: 1744, 1772, 1795

"What pity then / Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth / Her [the soul's] tender blossom; choak the streams of life, / And blast her spring!"

— Akenside, Mark (1720-1771)