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There is nothing that is meritorious but virtue and friendship.

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
Meritorious
Friendship
Virtue
Nothing

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The way of the Creative works through change and transformation, so that each thing receives its true nature and destiny and comes into permanent accord with the Great Harmony: this is what furthers and what perseveres.
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Party-spirit at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.
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The people's voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God.
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Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood, and abounding with the cries of expiring victims or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there.
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Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
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Our rural ancestors, with little blest, Patient of labor when the end was rest, Indulged the day that housed their annual grain, With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.
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Time conquers all, and we must time obey.
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Ask you what provocation I have had? The strong antipathy of good to bad.
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Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, But vindicate the ways of God to man.
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We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow. Our wiser sons, no doubt will think us so.
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Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.
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It is sure the hardest science to forget!
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With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?-She wants a heart.
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Horses (thou say'st) and asses men may try, And ring suspected vessels ere they buy But wives, a random choice, untried they take They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake Then, nor till then, the veil's removed away, And all the woman glares in open day.
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Unblemish'd let me live or die unknown Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!
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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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Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
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O peace! how many wars were waged in thy name.
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Tis all in vain to keep a constant pother About one vice and fall into another.
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Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Alexander Pope