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All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see All discord, harmony not understood All partial evil, universal good.

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
Art
Thou
Nature
Direction
Good
Thee
Harmony
Canst
Universal
Erring
Understood
Partial
Chance
Discord
Evil
Unknown

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While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.
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Never was it given to mortal man - To lie so boldly as we women can.
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Expression is the dress of thought, and still Appears more decent as more suitable A vile conceit in pompous words express'd, Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd.
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A perfect judge will read each word of wit with the same spirit that its author writ.
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And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air.
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The people's voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God.
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And write about it, Goddess, and about it!
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Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.
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For what I have publish'd, I can only hope to be pardon'd but for what I have burned, I deserve to be prais'd.
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A wise physician, skill'd our wounds to heal, is more than armies to the public weal.
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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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Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood, Our greatest evil, or our greatest good.
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And you, my Critics! in the chequer'd shade, Admire new light thro' holes yourselves have made.
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The greatest advantage I know of being thought a wit by the world is, that it gives one the greater freedom of playing the fool.
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Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare And beauty draws us with a single hair.
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See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head! Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
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Oh, blindness to the future! kindly giv'n, That each may fill the circle mark'd by heaven.
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Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
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Wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense!
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I never knew any man in my life who could not bear another's misfortunes perfectly like a Christian.
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