A Quote by Edward Young

Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly. — © Edward Young
Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.
Whenever you get one inch above the ground in your own esteem, you are that inch too high!
You can climb too high for your own good. Linger too long at high altitudes and your hearing dulls and your eyesight dims.
When you chop wood, splinters fly
Going round and around inside a dryer can be fatal, whereas pasta is rarely fatal. Unless Isabelle makes it.
In the book of Gaga, fame is in your heart, fame is there to comfort you, to bring you self-confidence and worth whenever you need it.
I have to say, post-fame was difficult because it wasn't just fame: it was super-fame of a kind that few have. It was attached to a generation's dreams, and my own personal dreams were mixed up in it, too.
Satire is at once the most agreeable and most dangerous of mental qualities. It always pleases when it is refined, but we always fear those who use it too much; yet satire should be allowed when unmixed with spite, and when the person satirized can join in the satire.
No it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel.
Fly, on your way, like an eagle / Fly as high as the Sun.
The thing about fame is, you want it your whole life, but no matter how bright you are, no one ever asks themselves why they want fame. You never really know what it is until you have it. You can never tangibly feel your own fame.
How do you meditate? You meditate with an inner cry. There should be an inner cry here, in the heart. The outer cry is ego-centred; it wants name and fame. ... While you are feeling this inner cry, you try to make the mind absolutely calm and quiet. If a thought enters your mind, you try to reject it. Consider this thought as a fly. When a fly comes to land on your arm, you don't allow the fly to remain; you just wave your hand and it goes away.
Not only after two or three centuries, but in a million years, life will still be as it was; life does not change, it remains for ever, following its own laws which do not concern us, or which, at any rate, you will never find out. Migrant birds, cranes for example, fly and fly, and whatever thoughts, high or low, enter their heads, they will still fly and not know why or where. They fly and will continue to fly, whatever philosophers come to life among them; they may philosophize as much as they like, only they will fly.
What people don't realize is that fame, whatever your worst experience in high school, when you were being bullied by those ten kids in high school, fame is that, but on a global scale, where you're being bullied by millions of people constantly.
We must not concentrate overmuch upon our feelings. Do not spend too much time feeling your own pulse taking your own spiritual temperature, do not spend too much time analyzing your feelings. That is the high road to morbidity.
Satire works in a bunch of specific ways, like a very precisely-geared bomb. It's a bit like something that looks harmless, and you swallow it, but once it's inside you it's too late, and it triggers, blowing up. And it's your specific inner beliefs and faulty arguments that trigger a satire bomb. If your arguments work, the bomb doesn't trigger, it doesn't need to.
Too bad brooms can't really fly. Now if you miss the bus you can't just go in your room and fly to school with a nimbus two thousand!
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