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Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.

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
Ought
Grows
Culture
Agriculture
Toil
Soil
Vain
Blame

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Homer excels all the inventors of other arts in this: that he has swallowed up the honor of those who succeeded him.
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True friendship's laws are by this rule express'd, Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.
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We may see the small value God has for riches, by the people he gives them to.
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The grave unites where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' oppressed!
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Avoid Extremes and shun the fault of such Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
Alexander Pope
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Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
Alexander Pope
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Our business in the field of fight, Is not to question, but to prove our might.
Alexander Pope
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Virtuous and vicious every man must be, few in the extreme, but all in the degree.
Alexander Pope
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Still when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, some Athens perishes, or some Tully bleeds.
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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Gentle dullness ever loves a joke.
Alexander Pope
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And hence one master-passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.
Alexander Pope
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The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
Alexander Pope
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Genius creates, and taste preserves.
Alexander Pope
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Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
Alexander Pope
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But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Alexander Pope
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Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well.
Alexander Pope
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Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.
Alexander Pope
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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.
Alexander Pope
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Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries all.
Alexander Pope