Best quotes by Alexander Pope

Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!

Die of a rose in aromatic pain.

The young disease, that must subdue at length, Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.

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

Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor.

Learn from the beasts the physic of the field.

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

Two women seldom grow intimate but at the expense of a third person; they make friendships as kings of old made leagues, who sacrificed some poor animal betwixt them, and commenced strict allies; so the ladies, after they have pulled some character to pieces, are from henceforth inviolable friends.

Order is Heaven's first law; and this confess, Some are and must be greater than the rest.

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

To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!

In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere and rush into the skies. Pride still is aiming at the bless'd abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

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

Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when prest, Stays till we call, and then not often near.

In various talk th' instructive hours they past, Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; One speaks the glory of the British queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen; A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; At every word a reputation dies.

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!

A king may be a tool, a thing of straw; but if he serves to frighten our enemies, and secure our property, it is well enough; a scarecrow is a thing of straw, but it protects the corn.

Sure of their qualities and demanding praise, more go to ruined fortunes than are raised.

Monuments, like men, submit to fate.

But touch me, and no minister so sore. Whoe'er offends, at some unlucky time Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme, Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, And the sad burthen of some merry song.

So upright Quakers please both man and God.

There is nothing wanting to make all rational and disinterested people in the world of one religion, but that they should talk together every day.

Tis thus the mercury of man is fix'd, Strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd.

How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!

On wings of wind came flying all abroad.

For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.

But honest instinct comes a volunteer; Sure never to o'er-shoot, but just to hit, While still too wide or short in human wit.

While I live, no rich or noble knave shall walk the world in credit to his grave.

No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.

Wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

The zeal of fools offends at any time.

To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.

See Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep, And all the western world believe and sleep.

E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me.

Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

When to mischief mortals bend their will, how soon they find it instruments of ill.

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

No more was seen the human form divine.

So man, who here seems principal alone, Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal; 'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

To balance Fortune by a just expense, Join with Economy, Magnificence.

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

Heaven breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.

Superstition is the spleen of the soul.

Whether the darken'd room to muse invite, Or whiten'd wall provoke the skew'r to write; In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint, Like Lee or Budgel I will rhyme and print.

Praise is like ambergrease: a little whiff of it, and by snatches, is very agreeable; but when a man holds a whole lump of it to your nose, it is a stink, and strikes you down.

No creature smarts so little as a fool.

Give me again my hollow tree A crust of bread, and liberty!

The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole Can never be a mouse of any soul.

Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix, Of crooked counsels and dark politics.

Then marble, soften'd into life, grew warm.

Then sculpture and her sister arts revived; stones leaped to form, and rocks began to live.

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

But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain. The wond'ring forests soon should dance again; The moving mountains hear the powerful call. And headlong streams hand listening in their fall!

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

The hog that ploughs not, not obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.

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

The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind, Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind, Whole nations enter with each swelling tide, And seas but join the regions they divide; Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, And the new world launch forth to seek the old.

The approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

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.

Giving advice is many times only the privilege of saying a foolish thing one's self, under the pretense of hindering another from doing one.

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.

I believe no one qualification is so likely to make a good writer, as the power of rejecting his own thoughts.

Religion blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires.

And more than echoes talk along the walls.

Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave, Is emulation in the learn'd or brave.

Whether with Reason, or with Instinct blest, Know, all enjoy that pow'r which suits them best.

Live like yourself, was soon my lady's word, And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board.

But just disease to luxury succeeds, And ev'ry death its own avenger breeds.

So perish all who do the like again.

Truth shines the brighter, clad in verse.

And little eagles wave their wings in gold.

Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky; Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves, When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves.

The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.

For when success a lover's toil attends,Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends