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Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.

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
Depends
Bliss
Proper
Blame

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What will a child learn sooner than a song?
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But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove Ye gods! And is there no relief for love?
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A tree is a nobler object than a prince in his coronation-robes.
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An honest man's the noblest work of God.
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Virtuous and vicious every man must be, few in the extreme, but all in the degree.
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The difference is too nice - Where ends the virtue or begins the vice.
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Modest plainness sets off sprightly wit, For works may have more with than does 'em good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.
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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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Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, But vindicate the ways of God to man.
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Who are next to knaves? Those that converse with them.
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No craving void left aching in the soul.
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All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.
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Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
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True politeness consists in being easy one's self, and in making every one about one as easy as one can.
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Wise wretch! with pleasures too refined to please, With too much spirit to be e'er at ease, With too much quickness ever to be taught, With too much thinking to have common thought: You purchase pain with all that joy can give, And die of nothing but a rage to live.
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'Tis not enough your counsel still be true Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.
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The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.
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The hog that ploughs not, not obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.
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Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!
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A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
Alexander Pope