A vast, vamped future, old, revived new piece.
Loud thunder to its bottom shook the bog, And the hoarse nation croaked, God save King Log'
She, while her lover pants upon her breast, Can mark the figures on an Indian chest.
And is there no relief for Love?
Some by Old Words to Fame have made Pretence;
Ancients in Phrase, meer Moderns in their Sense!
One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead -And, Betty, give this cheek a little red.
An atheist is but a mad, ridiculous derider of piety, but a hypocrite makes a sober jest of God and religion he finds it easier to be upon his knees than to rise to a good action.
In search of Wit these lose their common Sense,
And then turn Criticks in their own Defence.
In Men, we various Ruling Passions find;
In Women, two almost divide the kind;
Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey,
The Love of Pleasure, and the Love of Sway.
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.
What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain?
Shut, shut the door, good John fatigued I said. Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The dog-star rages.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold; Alike fantastic, if too new, or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
Or her, whose life the Church and Scandal share,
For ever in a Passion, or a Pray'r.
While man exclaims, 'See all things for my use' 'See man for mine' replies a pamper'd goose.
Curse on all laws, but those that love has made.
Men dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.
Persons of genius, and those who are most capable of art, are always most fond of nature as such are chiefly sensible, that all art consists in the imitation and study of nature.
Like Cato, give his little senate laws, and sit attentive to his own applause.
Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade Whereer you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Envy, to which the ignoble mind's a slave, Is emulation in the learned or brave.
Let spades be trumps she said, and trumps they were.
No one should be ashamed to admit they are wrong, which is but saying, in other words, that they are wiser today than they were yesterday.
Satan is wiser now than before, and tempts by making rich instead of poor.
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike.
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
A God without dominion, providence, and final causes, is nothing else but fate and nature.
But where's the man who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know.
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
Vital spark of heav'nly flame Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying.
Mark what unvaried laws preserve each state, Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate.
What blessings thy free bounty gives
Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives;
T' enjoy is to obey.
Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son!
With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought.
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught
Is but to please, can Pleasure seem a fault?
The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease.
Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left nor glimpse divine; Lo thy dread empire, Chaos is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
All seems infected that th' infected spy, As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.
Vast chain of being, which from God began,
Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,
Beast, bird, fish, insect!
Never elated when someone's oppressed, never dejected when another one's blessed.
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
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.
See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!
What are you to Love?
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
More Alexander Pope Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - Love - Mind - Sense & Perception - God - Nature - Education - Fool - Wit - Life - Art - Soul - World - Happiness - Fame - Pride - Fate & Destiny - Wisdom & Knowledge - Death & Dying - View All Alexander Pope Quotations
Walt Whitman - T. S. Eliot - Robert Frost - Ralph Waldo Emerson - e. e. cummings - Alexander Pope - William Congreve - Thomas Gray - Andrew Lang - Amy Lowell