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O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize, And make my tongue victorious as her eyes.

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
Gain
Tongue
Gains
Eyes
Eye
Make
Sylvia
Love
Victorious
Life
Prize

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Most women have no characters at all.
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Fine sense and exalted sense are not half so useful as common sense. There are forty men of wit for one man of sense and he that will carry nothing about him but gold, will be every day at a loss for want of readier change.
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Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
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See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbor to embrace.
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Such as are still observing upon others are like those who are always abroad at other men's houses, reforming everything there while their own runs to ruin.
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Trade it may help, society extend, But lures the Pirate, ant corrupts the friend: It raises armies in a nation's aid, But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd.
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The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
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Persons of genius, and those who are most capable of art, are always most fond of nature: as such are chiefly sensible, that all art consists in the imitation and study of nature.
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The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
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Men must be taught as if you taught them not, and things unknown proposed as things forgot.
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What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.
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Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.
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All seems infected that th' infected spy, As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.
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And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.
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I am his Highness' dog at Kew Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
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Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.
Alexander Pope
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This long disease, my life.
Alexander Pope
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No craving void left aching in the soul.
Alexander Pope
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A little learning is a dangerous thing Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
Alexander Pope