Quotes from Alexander Pope

To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.

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.

Trust not yourself; but your defects to know, Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.

A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.

The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; Mary: How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!

True wit is nature to advantage dressed; What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

For forms of Government let fools contest. Whate'er is best administered is best.

No place so scared from such frops is barred Nor is Paul's Church more safe than Paul's Churchyard Na fly to alter there they'll talk you dead For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Averse alike to flatter, or offend; Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God afraid of me.

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.

Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.

Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground.

Some who grow dull religious straight commence And gain in morals what they lose in sense.

Remembrance and reflection how allied! What thin partitions Sense from Thought divide!

For he lives twice who can at once employ, The present well, and e'en the past enjoy.

Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense Weigh thy Opinion against Providence; Call Imperfection what thou fancy'st such, Say, here he gives too little, there too much; Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust,(9) Yet cry, If Man's unhappy, God's unjust; If Man alone ingross not Heav'n's high care, Alone made perfect here, immortal there: Snatch from his hand the balance(10) and the rod, Re-judge his justice, be the GOD of GOD!

Then most our trouble still when most admired, And still the more we give, the more required; Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease, Sure some to vex, but never all to please.

Consult the genius of the place in all; That tells the waters or to rise, or fall; Or helps th' ambitious hill the heav'ns to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades, Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines; Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.

Men, some to business take, some to pleasure take; but every woman is at heart a rake

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found. False Eloquence, like the Prismatic Glass, Its gawdy Colours spreads on ev'ry place; The Face of Nature was no more Survey, All glares alike, without Distinction gay: But true Expression, like th' unchanging Sun, Clears, and improves whate'er it shines upon, It gilds all Objects, but it alters none.

How vain are all these Glories, all our Pains, Unless good Sense preserve what Beauty gains: That Men may say, when we the Front-box grace, Behold the first in Virtue, as in Face!