Date: 1706, 1715 [1706-1721]

"My spirit is tossed with a thousand tormenting things, and my thoughts destroy one another the same moment they are conceived, to make way for more; and so long as my body suffers by the impressions of my mind, how shall I be able to hold paper, or a reed to write."

— Anonymous

Date: 1742

"Not the gross act alone employs her pen; / She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band, / A watchful foe! the formidable spy, / Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp; / Our dawning purposes of heart explores, / And steals our embryos of iniquity."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Speech ventilates our intellectual fire; / Speech burnishes our mental magazine, / Brightens for ornament, and whets for use."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"Pleasure and Pride, by nature mortal foes, / At war eternal which in man shall reign, / By Wit's address, patch up a fatal peace, / And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch, / From rank refined to delicate and gay."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"Nor is it strange; light, motion, concourse, noise, / All scatter us abroad; Thought, outward-bound, / Neglectful of our home-affairs, flies off / In fume and dissipation, quits her charge, / And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

""Reason with Inclination why at war? / Why sense of guilt? Why Conscience up in arms?"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1745

"Imagination is the Paphian shop, / Where feeble Happiness, like Vulcan, lame, / Bids foul Ideas, in their dark recess, / And hot as hell, (which kindled the black fires,) / With wanton art, those fatal arrows form / Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and fame."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1745

"Wouldst thou receive them, other Thoughts there are, / On angel-wing, descending from above, / Which these, with art Divine, would counterwork, / And form celestial armour for thy peace."<

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1745

"Sense is our helmet, Wit is but the plume; / The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)