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But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove Ye gods! And is there no relief for love?

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
Closer
Shun
Remove
Shades
Relief
Flocks
Heat
Shepherds
Gods
Herds
Summer
Brooks
Noonday
Love
Retreat
Panting
Shade
Murmuring

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True self-love and social are the same.
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A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.
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The laughers are a majority.
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O happiness! our being's end and aim! Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die.
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When much dispute has past, we find our tenets just the same as last.
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Who builds a church to God and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.
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A good-natured man has the whole world to be happy out of.
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That character in conversation which commonly passes for agreeable is made up of civility and falsehood.
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I begin where most people end, with a full conviction of the emptiness of all sorts of ambition, and the unsatisfactory nature of all human pleasures.
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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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Avoid Extremes and shun the fault of such Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
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How do we know that we have a right to kill creatures that we are so little above, as dogs, for our curiosity or even for some use to us?
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Education forms the common mind.
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But if you'll prosper, mark what I advise, Whom age, and long experience render wise.
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How vast a memory has Love!
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Fickle Fortune reigns, and, undiscerning, scatters crowns and chains.
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Dogs, ye have had your day!
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As some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.
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Give me again my hollow tree A crust of bread, and liberty!
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Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, For sober, studious days!
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