Date: 1742

"Celestial Happiness, whene'er she stoops / To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, / And one alone, to make her sweet amends / For absent heaven,--the bosom of a friend; / Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft, / Each other's pillow to repose divine."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"From dreams, where Thought in Fancy's maze runs mad, / To reason, that heaven-lighted lamp in man, / Once more I wake; and at the destined hour, / Punctual as lovers to the moment sworn, / I keep my assignation with my woe."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven, / By tyrant Life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd? / By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified? / Death but entombs the body; Life, the soul."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"My soul is dead, my heart is stone, / A cage of birds and beasts unclean, / A den of thieves, a dire abode / Of dragons, but no house of God."

— Wesley, John and Charles

Date: 1743

"In that dread Moment, how the frantick Soul / Raves round the Walls of her Clay Tenement, / Runs to each Avenue, and shrieks for Help, / But shrieks in vain!"

— Blair, Robert (1699-1746)

Date: 1743

"Darkness has more divinity for me: / It strikes thought inward; it drives back the soul / To settle on herself, our point supreme! / There lies our theatre; there sits our judge."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"Dearly pays the soul / For lodging ill; too dearly rents her clay."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"When against Reason Riot shuts the door, / And Gaiety supplies the place of Sense, / Then foremost, at the banquet and the ball, / Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

A disembodied mind may "In Fleury's brainy Cells, [its] Entrance hide: / Heedful attend, where Thought's dim Embryos lie: / Fan the speck'd Fire--but bend its Flame awry.

— Hill, Aaron (1685-1750)

Date: 1744

"By toys entangled, or in guilt bemired, / [Ambition] turns a curse; it is our chain and scourge / In this dark dungeon, where confined we lie, / Close-grated by the sordid bars of sense; / All prospect of eternity shut out; / And, but for execution, ne'er set free."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)