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Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, For sober, studious days!

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
Sober
Luxury
Days
Night
Studious
Lobster
Luxurious
Farewell
Nights

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Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.
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How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
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Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.
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Heaven breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.
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Old politicians chew on wisdom past, And totter on in business to the last.
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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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Ask you what provocation I have had? The strong antipathy of good to bad.
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Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
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Most authors steal their works, or buy.
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Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, and fills up all the mighty void of sense.
Alexander Pope
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Praise is like ambergrease: a little whiff of it, and by snatches, is very agreeable but when a man holds a whole lump of it to your nose, it is a stink, and strikes you down.
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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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'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.
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Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.
Alexander Pope
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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
Alexander Pope
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All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.
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Say first, of god above or man below what can we reason but from what we know.
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Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Alexander Pope
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No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
Alexander Pope
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I lose my patience, and I own it too, When works are censur'd, not as bad but new While if our Elders break all reason's laws, These fools demand not pardon but Applause.
Alexander Pope