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Judge not of actions by their mere effect Dive to the center, and the cause detect. Great deeds from meanest springs may take their course, And smallest virtues from a mighty source.

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
May
Effects
Center
Take
Source
Deeds
Meanest
Great
Cause
Judge
Detect
Virtue
Effect
Dive
Courses
Actions
Springs
Course
Judging
Mighty
Causes
Mere
Smallest
Action
Spring
Virtues

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Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favors call She comes unlooked for, if she comes at all .
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The greatest magnifying glasses in the world are a man's own eyes when they look upon his own person.
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He best can paint them who shall feel them most.
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What is it to be wise? 'Tis but to know how little can be known, To see all others' faults, and feel our own.
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Who are next to knaves? Those that converse with them.
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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.
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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.
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Pleas'd look forward, pleas'd to look behind,And count each birthday with a grateful mind.
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And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will.
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Count all th' advantage prosperous Vice attains, 'Tis but what Virtue flies from and disdains: And grant the bad what happiness they would, One they must want--which is, to pass for good.
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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.
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Some are bewildered in the maze of schools, And some made coxcombs nature meant but fools.
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Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor.
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Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.
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The villain's censure is extorted praise.
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Ah! why, ye Gods, should two and two make four?
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Heaven gave to woman the peculiar grace To spin, to weep, and cully human race.
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What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy, Is virtue's prize.
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Truth needs not flowers of speech.
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Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly, The light Militia of the lower sky.
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