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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
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
Great
Passion
Errors
Riddle

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A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
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All chance, direction, which thou canst not see
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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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To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
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Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.
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Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain Here earth and water seem to strive again, Not chaos-like together crushed and bruised, But, as the world, harmoniously confused: Where order in variety we see, And where, though all things differ, all agree.
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How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, and love the offender, yet detest the offence?
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A perfect Judge will read each work of Wit With the same spirit that its author writ: Survey the Whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind.
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Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield Learn from the beasts the physic of the field The arts of building from the bee receive Learn of the mole to plow, the worm to weave.
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You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.
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Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep, Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep.
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What so pure, which envious tongues will spare? Some wicked wits have libell'd all the fair, With matchless impudence they style a wife, The dear-bought curse, and lawful plague of life A bosom serpent, a domestic evil, A night invasion, and a mid-day devil Let not the wise these sland'rous words regard, But curse the bones of ev'ry living bard.
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While I live, no rich or noble knave shall walk the world in credit to his grave.
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The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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For what I have publish'd, I can only hope to be pardon'd but for what I have burned, I deserve to be prais'd.
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Our business in the field of fight, Is not to question, but to prove our might.
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True disputants are like true sportsmen: their whole delight is in the pursuit.
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There is a majesty in simplicity.
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Physicians are in general the most amiable companions and the best friends, as well as the most learned men I know.
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If I am right, Thy grace impart Still in the right to stay If I am wrong, O, teach my heart To find that better way!
Alexander Pope