M.K. Alexander Quotes

Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy to catch me, just at dinner-time.

Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend, With whom my muse began, with who shall end.

Good-humor only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests and maintains the past.

Trade it may help, society extend, But lures the Pirate, ant corrupts the friend: It raises armies in a nation's aid, But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd.

Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.

Jarring interests of themselves create the according music of a well-mixed state.

To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, He bounds, connects and equals all!

Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, Not one will change his neighbor with himself.

A perfect Judge will read each work of Wit With the same spirit that its author writ: Survey the Whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind.

I lose my patience, and I own it too, When works are censur'd, not as bad but new; While if our Elders break all reason's laws, These fools demand not pardon but Applause.

A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.

Oft in dreams invention we bestow to change a flounce or add a furbelow.

A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.

Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.

In death a hero, as in life a friend!

The light of Heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.

There are some solitary wretches who seem to have left the rest of mankind, only, as Eve left Adam, to meet the devil in private.

Atheists put on false courage and alacrity in the midst of their darkness and apprehensions, like children who, when they fear to go in the dark, will sing for fear.

Old men, for the most part, are like old chronicles that give you dull but true accounts of times past, and are worth knowing only on that score.

Where's the man who counsel can bestow, still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know.

Say first, of god above or man below; what can we reason but from what we know.

A wise physician, skill'd our wounds to heal, is more than armies to the public weal.

Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.

There is nothing that is meritorious but virtue and friendship.

For he lives twice who can at once employ, The present well, and e'en the past enjoy.

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.

Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.

From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave: Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,- His pride in reasoning, not in acting lies.

Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.

Oh! be thou blest with all that Heaven can send, Long health, long youth, long pleasure-and a friend.

Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?

Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield; Learn from the beasts the physic of the field; The arts of building from the bee receive; Learn of the mole to plow, the worm to weave.

Why did I write? whose sin to me unknown Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.

Content if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view, The learn'd reflect on what before they knew.

How loved, how honored once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot A heap of dust alone remains of thee 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.

She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Charms by accepting, by submitting, sways, Yet has her humor most, when she obeys.

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well.

Tis use alone that sanctifies expense And splendor borrow all her rays from sense.

Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly, The light Militia of the lower sky.

Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.

Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.

Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?

Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.

In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend.

Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast; But shall the dignity of vice be lost?

The heart resolves this matter in a trice, "Men only feel the smart, but not the vice.