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Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting?

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
Grave
Graves
Flight
Wings
Victory
Sting
Death
Mount
Lend
Aviation

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As with narrow-necked bottles the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.
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Poets like painters, thus unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is Nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.
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Some positive persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so But you with pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critique on the last.
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False happiness is like false money it passes for a time as well as the true, and serves some ordinary occasions but when it is brought to the touch, we find the lightness and alloy, and feel the loss.
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Some people will never learn anything, for this reason, because they understand everything too soon.
Alexander Pope
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Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
Alexander Pope
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Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense weigh thy opinion against Providence.
Alexander Pope
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Whate'er the talents, or howe'er designed, We hang one jingling padlock on the mind.
Alexander Pope
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Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think or bravely die?
Alexander Pope
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In adamantine chains shall Death be bound, And Hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound.
Alexander Pope
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But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?
Alexander Pope
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It often happens that those are the best people whose characters have been most injured by slanderers: as we usually find that to be the sweetest fruit which the birds have been picking at.
Alexander Pope
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Genius creates, and taste preserves.
Alexander Pope
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Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes.
Alexander Pope
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Lo! the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind His soul proud Science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or milky way.
Alexander Pope
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Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.
Alexander Pope
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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.
Alexander Pope
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A wise physician, skill'd our wounds to heal, is more than armies to the public weal.
Alexander Pope
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What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
Alexander Pope
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What is fame? a fancied life in others' breath.
Alexander Pope