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Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

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
Waft
Pole
Intercourse
Sigh
Soft
Speed
Soul
Indus

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Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.
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Never elated when someone's oppressed, never dejected when another one's blessed.
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The character of covetousness, is what a man generally acquires more through some niggardliness or ill grace in little and inconsiderable things, than in expenses of any consequence.
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Thus God and nature linked the gen'ral frame, And bade self-love and social be the same.
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Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
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Fine sense and exalted sense are not half so useful as common sense.
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Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.
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Modest plainness sets off sprightly wit, For works may have more with than does 'em good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.
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See! From the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings Short is his joy! He feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.
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The laughers are a majority.
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Who are next to knaves? Those that converse with them.
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Whether with Reason, or with Instinct blest, Know, all enjoy that pow'r which suits them best.
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A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age.
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The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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Know then thyself, presume not God to scan The proper study of mankind is man.
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Age and want sit smiling at the gate.
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Heaven breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.
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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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Good-nature and good-sense must ever join To err is human, to forgive, divine.
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When to the Permanent is sacrificed the Mutable, the prize is thine: the drop returneth whence it came. The Open Path leads to the changeless change - Non-Being, the glorious state of Absoluteness, the Bliss past human thought.
Alexander Pope