Alexander Pope Quotes
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Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride! They had no poet, and they died. In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled! They had no poet, and are dead.
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Thou Great First Cause, least understood Who all my sense confined To know but this, that Thou art good And that myself am blind.
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Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes tea.
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I am his Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
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Therefore they who say our thoughts are not our own because they resemble the Ancients, may as well say our faces are not our own, because they are like our Fathers: And indeed it is very unreasonable, that people should expect us to be Scholars, and yet be angry to find us so.
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Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
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Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? in every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.
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It is with narrow-souled people as with narrow necked bottles: the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring it out.
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When men grow virtuous in their old age, they only make a sacrifice to God of the devil's leavings.
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Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clam'rous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare, They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
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Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes; The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods.
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'Boast not my fall (he cried), insulting foe! Thou by some other shalt be laid as low; Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind; All that I dread is leaving you behind! Rather than so, ah let me still survive, And burn in Cupid's flames - but burn alive.'
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And binding Nature fast in fate, Left free the human will.
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For he lives twice who can at once employ The present well, and e'en the past enjoy.
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Happy the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground.
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Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.
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Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast, When husbands, or when lapdogs, breathe their last.
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Let such, such only tread this sacred floor, Who dare to love their country and be poor.
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Proud Nimrod first the bloody chase began A mighty hunter, and his prey was man.
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To be angry, is to revenge the fault of others upon ourselves.
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Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild; In Wit, a Man; Simplicity, a Child.
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For, as blushing will sometimes make a whore pass for a virtuous woman, so modesty may make a fool seem a man of sense.
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Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane.
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They dream in Courtship, but in Wedlock wake.