Quote

The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, forever, and forever! Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.

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
Eye
Fair
Screams
Living
Horror
Skies
Life
Sky
Lightning
Sacred
Scream
Hair
Meeting
Head
Points
Eyes
Meetings
Rend
Forever
Fairs
Flashed

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In vain sedate reflections we would make When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take.
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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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Passions are the gales of life.
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Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
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Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, Born where Heav'n influence scarce can penetrate. In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like, They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
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There are some solitary wretches who seem to have left the rest of mankind, only, as Eve left Adam, to meet the devil in private.
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Get place and wealth, if possible with grace if not, by any means get wealth and place.
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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
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On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale Nor God alone in the still calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.
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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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You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.
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Vast chain of being! which from God began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach, from infinite to Thee, From Thee to nothing.
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In various talk th' instructive hours they past, Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last One speaks the glory of the British queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes At every word a reputation dies.
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Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting?
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Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit, There is no cure 'gainst age but it
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To dazzle let the vain design, To raise the thought and touch the heart, be thine!
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Giving advice is many times only the privilege of saying a foolish thing one's self, under the pretense of hindering another from doing one.
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The cabinets of the sick and the closets of the dead have been ransacked to publish private letters and divulge to all mankind the most secret sentiments of friendship.
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Unthought-of Frailties cheat us in the Wise.
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Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think or bravely die?
Alexander Pope