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Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.

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
Men
Ground
Paternal
Air
Acres
Whose
Bound
Joy
Native
Happiness
Bounds
Happy
Content
Wish
Breathe
Care
Laughter

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise and rudely great... He hangs between in doubt to act or rest In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast In doubt his mind or body to prefer Born to die, and reasoning but to err.
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So man, who here seems principal alone, Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal 'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
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But Satan now is wiser than of yore, and tempts by making rich, not making poor.
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Vices and virtues are of a strange nature, for the more we have, the fewer we think we have.
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Simplicity is the mean between ostentation and rusticity.
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But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
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Still follow sense, of ev'ry art the soul, Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole.
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Silence! coeval with eternity! thou wert ere Nature's self began to be thine was the sway ere heaven was formed on earth, ere fruitful thought conceived creation's birth.
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If a man's character is to be abused there's nobody like a relative to do the business.
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Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, Those call it pleasure, and contentment these.
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And all who told it added something new, and all who heard it, made enlargements too.
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Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.
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Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools and pageant of a day So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
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Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.
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Wit is the lowest form of humor.
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A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
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Our business in the field of fight, Is not to question, but to prove our might.
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Time conquers all, and we must time obey.
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Genius involves both envy and calumny.
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So vast is art, so narrow human wit.
Alexander Pope