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Men, some to business, some to pleasure take But every woman is at heart a rake.

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
Men
Rake
Rakes
Pleasure
Woman
Business
Take
Heart
Every

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True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
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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.
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Sometimes virtue starves while vice is fed.
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Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
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Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.
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Praise undeserved, is satire in disguise.
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Not to go back is somewhat to advance, and men must walk, at least, before they dance.
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You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.
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To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company. Go wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense Weigh thy opinion against Providence.
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E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me.
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Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgement, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.
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A long, exact, and serious comedy In every scene some moral let it teach, And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
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Fondly we think we honor merit then, when we but praise ourselves in other men.
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Still follow sense, of ev'ry art the soul, Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole.
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True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.
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Wise wretch! with pleasures too refined to please, With too much spirit to be e'er at ease, With too much quickness ever to be taught, With too much thinking to have common thought: You purchase pain with all that joy can give, And die of nothing but a rage to live.
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Heaven breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.
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A little learning is a dangerous thing Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
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Astrologers that future fates foreshow.
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Oh! be thou blest with all that Heaven can send, Long health, long youth, long pleasure-and a friend.
Alexander Pope