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Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

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
Saint
Paint
Grow
Grows
Charmer
Whether
Charmers
Must
Sinner
Folly
Romantic

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Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.
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It often happens that those are the best people whose characters have been most injured by slanderers: as we usually find that to be the sweetest fruit which the birds have been picking at.
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That each from other differs, first confess next that he varies from himself no less.
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Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame? In living medals see her wars enroll'd, And vanquished realms supply recording gold?
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Tis thus the mercury of man is fix'd, Strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd.
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Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.
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A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age.
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Avoid Extremes and shun the fault of such Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
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A little learning is a dangerous thing drink of it deeply, or taste it not, for shallow thoughts intoxicate the brain, and drinking deeply sobers us again.
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Never was it given to mortal man - To lie so boldly as we women can.
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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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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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Consult the Genius of the Place in all.
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How Instinct varies in the grov'ling swine.
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Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when prest, Stays till we call, and then not often near.
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So vast is art, so narrow human wit.
Alexander Pope
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Great oaks grow from little acorns. He has a green thumb. He has green fingers. He's sowing his wild oats. Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand, And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand.
Alexander Pope
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Intestine war no more our passions wage, And giddy factions bear away their rage.
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Charm strikes the sight, but merit wins the soul.
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Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix, Of crooked counsels and dark politics.
Alexander Pope