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The ruling passion, be it what it will. The ruling passion conquers reason still.

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
Conquer
Passion
Literature
Stills
Still
Reason
Conquers
Ruling

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Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
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An honest man's the noblest work of God.
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Nothing is more certain than much of the force as well as grace, of arguments or instructions depends their conciseness.
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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.
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Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide,Or gave his father grief but when he died.
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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.
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Be thou the first true merit to befriend, his praise is lost who stays till all commend.
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And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will.
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Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
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Nature and nature's laws lay hid in the night. God said, Let Newton be! and all was light!
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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!
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Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
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Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell aspiring to be angels men rebel.
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I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
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So modern 'pothecaries, taught the art By doctor's bills to play the doctor's part, Bold in the practice of mistaken rules, Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools.
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At every trifle take offense, that always shows great pride or little sense.
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Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.
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Modest plainness sets off sprightly wit, For works may have more with than does 'em good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.
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For when success a lover's toil attends,Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends
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One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight.
Alexander Pope