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Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!

Alexander Pope

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Alexander Pope
Age: 56 †
Born: 1688
Born: May 21
Died: 1744
Died: May 30
Literary Historian
Poet
Translator
the City
Pope the Poet
Alexander I Pope
Alexander
I Pope
Many
Linked
Hidden
Chains
Lulled
Awake
Myriads
Rise
Chambers
Thoughts
Countless
Memories
Chamber
Brain
Chain

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There is no study that is not capable of delighting us after a little application to it.
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See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbor to embrace.
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An obstinate person does not hold opinions they hold them.
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Sure of their qualities and demanding praise, more go to ruined fortunes than are raised.
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To observations which ourselves we make, we grow more partial for th' observer's sake.
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Therefore they who say our thoughts are not our own because they resemble the Ancients, may as well say our faces are not our own, because they are like our Fathers: And indeed it is very unreasonable, that people should expect us to be Scholars, and yet be angry to find us so.
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To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
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And write about it, Goddess, and about it!
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As with narrow-necked bottles the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.
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From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.
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The Physician, by the study and inspection of urine and ordure, approves himself in the science and in like sort should our author accustom and exercise his imagination upon the dregs of nature.
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The life of a wit is a warfare upon earth.
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Here thou, great Anna! Whom three realms obey, / Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea.
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Good-nature and good-sense must ever join To err is human, to forgive, divine.
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O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize, And make my tongue victorious as her eyes.
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At ev'ry word a reputation dies.
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No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.
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By music minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. . . . . Warriors she fires with animated sounds. Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds.
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Who dare to love their country, and be poor.
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But if you'll prosper, mark what I advise, Whom age, and long experience render wise.
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