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How index-learning turns no student pale, Yet holds the eel of science by the tail!
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
Library
Eels
Students
Index
Learning
Librarian
Turns
Tail
Science
Tails
Pale
Holds
Student
More quotes by Alexander Pope
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
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To buy books as some do who make no use of them, only because they were published by an eminent printer, is much as if a man should buy clothes that did not fit him, only because they were made by some famous tailor.
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The life of a wit is a warfare upon earth.
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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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But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure and a small estate.
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Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor.
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The young disease, that must subdue at length, Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.
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Curse on all laws but those which love has made.
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There still remains to mortify a wit The many-headed monster of the pit.
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A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.
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Health consists with temperance alone.
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To teach vain Wits that Science little known, T' admire Superior Sense, and doubt their own!
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It is observable that the ladies frequent tragedies more than comedies the reason may be, that in tragedy their sex is deified and adored, in comedy exposed and ridiculed.
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No more was seen the human form divine.
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The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712) -Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Stanza 1.
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A perfect woman's but a softer man.
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Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue
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Order is Heaven's first law and this confess, Some are and must be greater than the rest.
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Why did I write? whose sin to me unknown Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
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Wine lets no lover unrewarded go.
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