Alexander Pope Quotes
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The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.
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So unaffected, so compos'd a mind; So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so retin'd; Heav'n, as its purest gold, by tortures try'd; The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
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Coffee, which makes the politician wise, And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.
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Well, if our author in the wife offendsHe has a husband that will make amends;He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving,And sure such kind good creatures may be living.
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The world recedes; it disappears! Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting?
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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 shift the moving toyshop of their heart.
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Each finding like a friendSomething to blame, and something to commend.
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Dear, damned, distracting town, farewell! Thy fools no more I'll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dwell, Ye harlots, sleep at ease!
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Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear.
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Unblemish'd let me live, or die unknown; O grant an honest fame, or grant me none!
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Ignobly vain, and impotently great.
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From old Belerium to the northern main.
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Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he died.
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A person who is too nice an observer of the business of the crowd, like one who is too curious in observing the labour of the bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.
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Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away!
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The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, forever, and forever! Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
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The stoic husband was the glorious thing.The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true,And lov'd his country.
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Party is the madness of many, for the gain of a few.
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On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
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And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.
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Is it, in Heav'n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
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Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood, and abounding with the cries of expiring victims, or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there. It gives one the image of a giant's den in a romance, bestrewed with scattered heads and mangled limbs.
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If I am right, Thy grace import Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, oh teach my heart To find that better way!