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The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.

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
Worst
Running
Madmen
Fanaticism
Insanity
Mad
Saint

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes.
Alexander Pope
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Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know.
Alexander Pope
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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.
Alexander Pope
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As some to Church repair, not for the doctrine, but the music there.
Alexander Pope
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And die of nothing but a rage to live.
Alexander Pope
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A mighty maze! But not without a plan.
Alexander Pope
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Whether the darken'd room to muse invite, Or whiten'd wall provoke the skew'r to write In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint, Like Lee or Budgel I will rhyme and print.
Alexander Pope
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Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings?
Alexander Pope
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Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, Born where Heav'n influence scarce can penetrate. In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like, They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
Alexander Pope
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Old men, for the most part, are like old chronicles that give you dull but true accounts of times past, and are worth knowing only on that score.
Alexander Pope
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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.
Alexander Pope
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We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow. Our wiser sons, no doubt will think us so.
Alexander Pope
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Why did I write? What sin to me unknown dipped me in ink, my parents , or my own?
Alexander Pope
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O happiness! our being's end and aim! Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die.
Alexander Pope
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See! From the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings Short is his joy! He feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.
Alexander Pope
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I am his Highness' dog at Kew Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
Alexander Pope
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Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
Alexander Pope
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Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone, A Page, a Grave, that they can call their own But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick, On passive paper, or on solid brick.
Alexander Pope
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A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
Alexander Pope
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Expression is the dress of thought.
Alexander Pope