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On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.

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
Might
Breasts
Jews
Jew
Infidels
Kiss
Infidel
Cross
Sparkling
Crosses
Wore
Kissing
Breast
White
Adore

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No more was seen the human form divine.
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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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A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state.
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The grave unites where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' oppressed!
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Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
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To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.
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What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
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Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
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To pardon those absurdities in ourselves which we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor worse than to be more willing to be fools ourselves than to have others so.
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What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.
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Who dare to love their country, and be poor.
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The hog that ploughs not, not obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.
Alexander Pope
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Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains.
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Avoid Extremes and shun the fault of such Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
Alexander Pope
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Others import yet nobler arts from France, Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.
Alexander Pope
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The people's voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God.
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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To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
Alexander Pope
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Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone, A Page, a Grave, that they can call their own But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick, On passive paper, or on solid brick.
Alexander Pope
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Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Alexander Pope