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No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n But such plain roofs as Piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise.

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
Dying
Plain
Roofs
Silver
Misers
Ill
Maker
Raise
Piety
Rage
Vocal
Saint
Saints
Raises
Roof
Requited
Praise
Makers
Heav

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To err is human to forgive, divine.
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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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Fool, 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam: Know, sense, like charity, begins at home.
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Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
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What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.
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There is a certain majesty in simplicity which is far above all the quaintness of wit.
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How loved, how honored once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot A heap of dust alone remains of thee 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
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At present we can only reason of the divine justice from what we know of justice in man. When we are in other scenes, we may have truer and nobler ideas of it but while we are in this life, we can only speak from the volume that is laid open before us.
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Age and want sit smiling at the gate.
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Be silent always when you doubt your sense.
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There should be, methinks, as little merit in loving a woman for her beauty as in loving a man for his prosperity both being equally subject to change.
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Wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense!
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The learned is happy, nature to explore The fool is happy, that he knows no more.
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What bosom beast not in his country's cause?
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Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
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Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust.
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Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
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The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
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To dazzle let the vain design, To raise the thought and touch the heart, be thine!
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Many men have been capable of doing a wise thing, more a cunning thing, but very few a generous thing.
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