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Chaos of thought and passion, all confused Still by himself abused or disabused Created half to rise, and half to fall Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled,- The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.

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
Great
Passion
Errors
Riddle
Things
Lord
Judge
Abused
World
Half
Chaos
Prey
Fall
Rise
Confusing
Thought
Endless
Sole
Stills
Judging
Error
Truth
Created
Confused
Hurled
Still
Glory
Confusion
Jest

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Hope humbly then with trembling pinions soar Wait the great teacher, Death, and God adore What future bliss He gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
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There is no study that is not capable of delighting us after a little application to it.
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All nature is but art unknown to thee.
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Unthought-of Frailties cheat us in the Wise.
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Of darkness visible so much be lent, as half to show, half veil, the deep intent.
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Trace Science, then, with Modesty thy guide, First strip off all her equipage of Pride, Deduct what is but Vanity or Dress, Or Learning's Luxury or idleness, Or tricks, to show the stretch of the human brain Mere curious pleasure or ingenious pain.
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The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
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Then marble, soften'd into life, grew warm.
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Modest plainness sets off sprightly wit, For works may have more with than does 'em good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.
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No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n But such plain roofs as Piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
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From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
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Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
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Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.
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Who pants for glory, finds but short repose A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.
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Old men, for the most part, are like old chronicles that give you dull but true accounts of times past, and are worth knowing only on that score.
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Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science, fairly worth the seven.
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In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fixed, 'tis fixed as in a frost.
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A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.
Alexander Pope
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Sometimes virtue starves while vice is fed.
Alexander Pope
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Virtue alone is happiness below.
Alexander Pope