Alexander Pope Quotes
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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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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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Let spades be trumps! she said, and trumps they were.
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Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear.
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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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On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
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Father of all! in every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
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Party is the madness of many, for the gain of a few.
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Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake, And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake.
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They shift the moving toyshop of their heart.
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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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I never knew any man in my life who could not bear another's misfortunes perfectly like a Christian.
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From old Belerium to the northern main.
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Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away!
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Know, sense, like charity, begins at home.
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There, take (says Justice), take ye each a shell: We thrive at Westminster on fools like you; 'T was a fat oyster,-live in peace,-adieu.
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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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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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Each finding like a friendSomething to blame, and something to commend.
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For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
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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!
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Lo these were they, whose souls the Furies steel'd, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
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Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, For sober, studious days!
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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.