Alexander Pope Quotes

Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, Born where Heav'n influence scarce can penetrate. In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like, They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.

'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.

The character of covetousness, is what a man generally acquires more through some niggardliness or ill grace in little and inconsiderable things, than in expenses of any consequence.

But see how oft ambition's aims are cross'd, and chiefs contend 'til all the prize is lost!

I never knew any man in my life who could not bear another's misfortunes perfectly like a Christian.

If a man's character is to be abused there's nobody like a relative to do the business.

Fine sense and exalted sense are not half so useful as common sense.

Truth needs not flowers of speech.

It often happens that those are the best people whose characters have been most injured by slanderers: as we usually find that to be the sweetest fruit which the birds have been picking at.

Homer excels all the inventors of other arts in this: that he has swallowed up the honor of those who succeeded him.

A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.

Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.

A family is but too often a commonwealth of malignants.

Get place and wealth, if possible with grace; if not, by any means get wealth and place.

And die of nothing but a rage to live.

At ev'ry word a reputation dies.

That each from other differs, first confess; next that he varies from himself no less.

Who finds not Providence all good and wise, Alike in what it gives, and what denies.

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.

Why has not Man a microscopic eye? For this plain reason, Man is not a Fly. Say what the use, were finer optics giv'n, T' inspect a mite, not comprehend the heav'n.

But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure and a small estate.

How vast a memory has Love!

Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.

The greatest advantage I know of being thought a wit by the world is, that it gives one the greater freedom of playing the fool.

Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

Mankind is unamendable.

Fool, 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam: Know, sense, like charity, begins at home.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.

Wine lets no lover unrewarded go.

He knows to live who keeps the middle state, and neither leans on this side nor on that.

Who pants for glory, finds but short repose; A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.

But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye gods! And is there no relief for love?

But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be, few in the extreme, but all in the degree.

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.

And each blasphemer quite escape the rod, Because the insult's not on man, but God?

Time conquers all, and we must time obey.

I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.

Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, Those call it pleasure, and contentment these.

Old politicians chew on wisdom past, And totter on in business to the last.

O happiness! our being's end and aim! Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die.

The dances ended, all the fairy train For pinks and daisies search'd the flow'ry plain.

Here thou, great Anna! Whom three realms obey, / Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea.

Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.

To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines, Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines.

And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.

E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me.

Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.

Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust.

Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate and rot.