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Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your 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
Eyes
Summer
Flourish
Turns
Flower
Shade
Eye
Walk
Crowd
Things
Fans
Crowds
Glade
Tree
Flowers
Gales
Walks
Trees
Blushing
Turn
Rise
Gale
Shall
Cool
Tread

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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To endeavor to work upon the vulgar with fine sense is like attempting to hew blocks with a razor.
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Like following life through creatures you dissect, You lose it in the moment you detect.
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Poets heap virtues, painters gems, at will, And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.
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The flower's are gone when the Fruits appear to ripen.
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And soften'd sounds along the waters die: Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play.
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I think a good deal may be said to extenuate the fault of bad Poets. What we call a Genius, is hard to be distinguish'd by a man himself, from a strong inclination: and if his genius be ever so great, he can not at first discover it any other way, than by giving way to that prevalent propensity which renders him the more liable to be mistaken.
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What Tully said of war may be applied to disputing: It should be always so managed as to remember that the only true end of it is peace. But generally true disputants are like true sportsmen,--their whole delight is in the pursuit and the disputant no more cares for the truth than the sportsman for the hare.
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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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Every man has just as much vanity as he wants understanding.
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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.
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To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
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Envy will merit as its shade pursue, But like a shadow, proves the substance true.
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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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Is not absence death to those who love?
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I am his Highness' dog at Kew Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
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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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Monuments, like men, submit to fate.
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Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.
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Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words,-health, peace, and competence.
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Cavil you may, but never criticise.
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