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Conceit is to nature what paint is to beauty it is not only needless, but it impairs what it would improve.

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
Conceited
Conceit
Improve
Improvement
Paint
Beauty
Nature
Impairs
Would
Needless

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
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All looks yellow to the jaundiced eye. [and therefore the solution is to fix the jaundiced eye.]
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Judges and senates have been bought for gold Esteem and love were never to be sold.
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Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly, The light Militia of the lower sky.
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Superstition is the spleen of the soul.
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Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven.
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Heaven gave to woman the peculiar grace To spin, to weep, and cully human race.
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See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head! Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
Alexander Pope
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Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Alexander Pope
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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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And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will.
Alexander Pope
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Learn to live well, or fairly make your will You've play'd, and lov'd, and ate, and drank your fill: Walk sober off, before a sprightlier age Comes titt'ring on, and shoves you from the stage.
Alexander Pope
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For forms of faith let graceless zealots fight his can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
Alexander Pope
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The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712) -Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Stanza 1.
Alexander Pope
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Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.
Alexander Pope
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All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.
Alexander Pope
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Nor in the critic let the man be lost.
Alexander Pope
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Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild In Wit a man Simplicity, a child.
Alexander Pope
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I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.
Alexander Pope
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Still when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, some Athens perishes, or some Tully bleeds.
Alexander Pope