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No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.

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
Last
Cast
Casts
Shrieks
Breathe
Pitying
Dog
Louder
Husband
Lap
Loss
Husbands
Heaven
Pet
Lasts
Dogs

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A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.
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Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgement, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.
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For he lives twice who can at once employ, The present well, and e'en the past enjoy.
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Be silent always when you doubt your sense.
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New, distant Scenes of endless Science rise: So pleas'd at first, the towring Alps we try.
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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.
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Here thou, great Anna! Whom three realms obey, / Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea.
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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?
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Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
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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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The zeal of fools offends at any time.
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Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
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Extremes in nature equal ends produce In man they join to some mysterious use.
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Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.
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At ev'ry word a reputation dies.
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Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
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Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools and pageant of a day So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
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Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,Make the soul dance upon a jig to Heav'n.
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Die of a rose in aromatic pain.
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Virtuous and vicious every man must be, few in the extreme, but all in the degree.
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