Best quotes by Alexander Pope

Some old men, continually praise the time of their youth. In fact, you would almost think that there were no fools in their days, but unluckily they themselves are left as an example.

Though triumphs were to generals only due, crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too.

They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.

Woman's at best a contradiction still.

No craving void left aching in the soul.

And empty heads console with empty sound.

Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?

But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?

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

Never elated while one man's oppress'd; Never dejected while another's blessed.

Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense weigh thy opinion against Providence.

What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy, Is virtue's prize.

All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good.

The same ambition can destroy or save, and make a patriot as it makes a knave.

Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.

Party-spirit at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.

chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd.

Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss.

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.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Our judgments, like our watches, none go just alike, yet each believes his own

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

Cavil you may, but never criticise.

Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.

If I am right, Thy grace impart Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, O, teach my heart To find that better way!

True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.

A pear-tree planted nigh: 'Twas charg'd with fruit that made a goodly show, And hung with dangling pears was every bough.

Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood, Our greatest evil, or our greatest good.

Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes; And when in act they cease, in prospect rise.

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.

The most positive men are the most credulous, since they most believe themselves, and advise most with their falsest flatterer and worst enemy--their own self-love.

Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, and fills up all the mighty void of sense.

Whatever is, is right.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain

Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day, Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old age away; . . . . To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint, Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.

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

A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.

Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

A person who is too nice an observer of the business of the crowd, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.

Only music has the ability to take you to the edge of reality and allow you to peek in for a moment.

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

Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with Gods, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand - the name appears Already written - wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeyes.

Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.

There is a certain majesty in simplicity which is far above all the quaintness of wit.

The difference is too nice - Where ends the virtue or begins the vice.

Such as are still observing upon others are like those who are always abroad at other men's houses, reforming everything there while their own runs to ruin.

Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.

All nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace.

Fickle Fortune reigns, and, undiscerning, scatters crowns and chains.

To pardon those absurdities in ourselves which we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor worse than to be more willing to be fools ourselves than to have others so.

What is fame? a fancied life in others' breath.

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

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.

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.

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

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.

The bookful blockhead ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head, With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always list'ning to himself appears. All books he reads, and all he reads assails.

Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.

No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!

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

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 plan.

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 proper study of Mankind is Man.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw; Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite; Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age. Pleased with this bauble still, as that before, Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see

All looks yellow to the jaundiced eye. [and therefore the solution is to fix the jaundiced eye.]

Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.

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

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.