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And die of nothing but a rage to live.

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
Nothing
Quickness
Rage
Dies
Pain
Death
Live

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By flatterers besieged And so obliging that he ne'er obliged.
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A family is but too often a commonwealth of malignants.
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Simplicity is the mean between ostentation and rusticity.
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A disputant no more cares for the truth than the sportsman for the hare.
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Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.
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He knows to live who keeps the middle state, and neither leans on this side nor on that.
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To pardon those absurdities in ourselves which we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor worse than to be more willing to be fools ourselves than to have others so.
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All other goods by fortune's hand are given, A wife is the peculiar gift of Heaven.
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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.
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No creature smarts so little as a fool.
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Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day, Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old age away . . . . To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint, Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.
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Here thou, great Anna! Whom three realms obey, / Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea.
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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.
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Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Just as one beauty mortifies another.
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In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fix'd: 't is fix'd as in a frost contracted all, retiring to the breast but strength of mind is exercise, not rest.
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Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.
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Did some more sober critics come abroad? If wrong, I smil'd if right, I kiss'd the rod.
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A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
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The scripture in times of disputes is like an open town in times of war, which serves in differently the occasions of both parties.
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What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
Alexander Pope