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Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, They rise, they break, and to that sea return.

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
Bubbles
Rise
Sea
Return
Break
Matter
Life
Like
Borne

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Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
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The season when to come, and when to go, to sing, or cease to sing, we never know.
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In a sadly pleasing strain, let the warbling lute complain.
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Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.
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Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
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Here thou, great Anna! Whom three realms obey, / Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea.
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Who pants for glory, finds but short repose A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.
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Never was it given to mortal man - To lie so boldly as we women can.
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Truth needs not flowers of speech.
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The lot of man - to suffer and to die.
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For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.
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Atheists put on false courage and alacrity in the midst of their darkness and apprehensions, like children who, when they fear to go in the dark, will sing for fear.
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A long, exact, and serious comedy In every scene some moral let it teach, And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
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Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
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Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow The rest is all but leather and prunello.
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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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Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies.
Alexander Pope
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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
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Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Alexander Pope
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Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
Alexander Pope