Top 744 Quotes & Sayings by Alexander Pope - Page 12

Our rural ancestors, with little blest, Patient of labor when the end was rest, Indulged the day that housed their annual grain, With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.

But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews; Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse; Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decay, Time conquers all, and we must time obey.

I have more zeal than wit.

No creature smarts so little as a fool.

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

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.

In vain sedate reflections we would make When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take.

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

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher, Death, and God adore; What future bliss He gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.

While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.

Sole judge of Truth, in endless Error hurled: / The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

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.

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

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

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

That virtue only makes our bliss below, And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.

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

Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, of straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.

Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 'Tis true the hardest science to forget.

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 word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.

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

And not a vanity is given in vain.

Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!

She went from opera, park, assembly, play, To morning walks, and prayers three hours a day. To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea, To muse, and spill her solitary tea, Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon.

Offend her, and she knows not to forgive; Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live.

If faith itself has different dresses worn, What wonder modes in wit should take their turn?

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.

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

Wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

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.

Time conquers all, and we must time obey.

Others import yet nobler arts from France, Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.

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

What nature wants, commodious gold bestows; 'Tis thus we cut the bread another sows.

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

The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712) -Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Stanza 1.

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

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

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.

How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!

To dazzle let the vain design, To raise the thought and touch the heart, be thine!

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

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

On wings of wind came flying all abroad.

Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather and prunello.

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

What riches give us let us then inquire: Meat, fire, and clothes. What more? Meat, clothes, and fire. Is this too little?

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.

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.

One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight; Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight.

And little eagles wave their wings in gold.

The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.

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

Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep, Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep.

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

Of darkness visible so much be lent, as half to show, half veil, the deep intent.

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