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For what I have publish'd, I can only hope to be pardon'd but for what I have burned, I deserve to be prais'd.

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
Poetry
Hope
Pardon
Publish
Burned
Deserve

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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All looks yellow to the jaundiced eye. [and therefore the solution is to fix the jaundiced eye.]
Alexander Pope
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A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
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Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, their beauty withered, and their verdure lost!
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The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
Alexander Pope
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Learn from the beasts the physic of the field.
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To err is human to forgive, divine.
Alexander Pope
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The learned is happy, nature to explore The fool is happy, that he knows no more.
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Cavil you may, but never criticise.
Alexander Pope
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Women, as they are like riddles in being unintelligible, so generally resemble them in this, that they please us no longer once we know them.
Alexander Pope
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To dazzle let the vain design, To raise the thought and touch the heart, be thine!
Alexander Pope
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Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.
Alexander Pope
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Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
Alexander Pope
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By music minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. . . . . Warriors she fires with animated sounds. Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds.
Alexander Pope
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A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.
Alexander Pope
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Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools and pageant of a day So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
Alexander Pope
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True wit is nature to advantage dressed What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.
Alexander Pope
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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.
Alexander Pope
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Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.
Alexander Pope
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Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
Alexander Pope
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Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
Alexander Pope