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You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.

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
Fancy
Beat
Beats
Please
Home
Body
Pate
Come
Knock
Wit

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Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
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A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.
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Heaven breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.
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All looks yellow to the jaundiced eye. [and therefore the solution is to fix the jaundiced eye.]
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To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite, who never mentions hell to ears polite.
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Whenever I find a great deal of gratitude in a poor man, I take it for granted there would be as much generosity if he were a rich man.
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Most authors steal their works, or buy.
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What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
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The most positive men are the most credulous.
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Unthought-of Frailties cheat us in the Wise.
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Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
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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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Every woman is at heart a rake.
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Placed on this isthmus of a middle state.
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On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.
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To observations which ourselves we make, we grow more partial for th' observer's sake.
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That each from other differs, first confess next that he varies from himself no less.
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As with narrow-necked bottles the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.
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Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day, Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old age away . . . . To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint, Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.
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Woman's at best a contradiction still.
Alexander Pope