Alexander Pope Quotes (535 Quotes)


    Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.

    But ALL subsists by elemental strife;
    And passions are the elements of life.

    Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
    Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
    They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
    Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
    The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
    Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
    Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
    And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

    Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.



    Did some more sober critic come abroad; If wrong, I smil'd if right, I kiss'd the rod.

    As yet a child, not yet a fool to fame, I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.


    I believe it is no wrong Observation, that Persons of Genius, and those who are most capable of Art, are always fond of Nature, as such are chiefly sensible, that all Art consists in the Imitation and Study of Nature. On the contrary, People of the common Level of Understanding are principally delighted with the Little Niceties and Fantastical Operations of Art, and constantly think that finest which is least Natural.

    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.

    To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite, Who never mentions hell to ears polite.



    Genius creates, and taste preserves. Taste is the good sense of genius; without taste, genius is only sublime folly.

    Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.



    PLeas'd look forward, pleas'd to look behind, And count each birthday with a grateful mind.

    That true self-love and social are the same That virtue only makes our bliss below And all our knowledge is, ourselves to know.

    Lo thy dread empire, Chaos is restor'd Light dies before thy uncreating word Thy hand, great Anarch lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries all.

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

    Musick resembles Poetry, in each
    Are nameless Graces which no Methods teach,
    And which a Master-Hand alone can reach.

    Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or when lap-dogs breathe their last.

    But as the slightest Sketch, if justly trac'd,
    Is by ill Colouring but the more disgrac'd,
    So by false Learning is good Sense defac'd.


    Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
    Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
    Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
    And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.

    Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies.

    Man never thinks himself happy, but when he enjoys those things which others want or desire.

    How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
    And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?



    And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad.

    Learn hence for Ancient Rules a just Esteem;
    To copy Nature is to copy Them.

    What's fame A fancied life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.

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

    Thus when we view some well-proportion'd Dome,
    The World's just Wonder, and ev'n thine O Rome!

    Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild; In Wit a man; Simplicity, a child.

    Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favors call She comes unlooked for, if she comes at all .

    Fired that the house reject him, 'Sdeath I'll print it, And shame the fools.'

    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.

    Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
    And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,
    After a life of gen'rous toils endur'd,
    The Gaul subdu'd, or property secur'd,
    Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd,
    Or laws establish'd, and the world reform'd;
    Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
    Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!

    He who tells a lie is not sensible how great a task he undertakes for he must invent twenty more to maintain that one.

    True politeness consists in being easy one's self, and in making every one about one as easy as one can.



    Awake my St John Leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of kings. Let us, since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die, Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man A mighty maze but not without a.


    Trust not yourself, but your defects to know, make use of every friend and every foe.

    Who builds a church to God and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.

    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.


    Related Authors


    T. S. Eliot - Maya Angelou - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - William Congreve - W. H. Auden - Thomas Gray - Sylvia Plath - Sophocles - John Betjeman - A. E. Housman


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