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Some positive persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so But you with pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critique on the last.

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
Lasts
Last
Past
Persisting
Needs
Critique
Make
Errors
Always
Positive
Pleasure
Wrong

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In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fixed, 'tis fixed as in a frost.
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A little learning is a dangerous thing Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
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There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, ''Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed.
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By flatterers besieged And so obliging that he ne'er obliged.
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Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.
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Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes.
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Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 'Tis true the hardest science to forget.
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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.
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What so pure, which envious tongues will spare? Some wicked wits have libell'd all the fair, With matchless impudence they style a wife, The dear-bought curse, and lawful plague of life A bosom serpent, a domestic evil, A night invasion, and a mid-day devil Let not the wise these sland'rous words regard, But curse the bones of ev'ry living bard.
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Monuments, like men, submit to fate.
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Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave: Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,- His pride in reasoning, not in acting lies.
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The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.
Alexander Pope
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Virtue may choose the high or low degree, 'Tis just alike to virtue, and to me Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king, She's still the same belov'd, contented thing.
Alexander Pope
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On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.
Alexander Pope
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Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools and pageant of a day So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
Alexander Pope
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To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
Alexander Pope
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Wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense!
Alexander Pope
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Some old men, continually praise the time of their youth. In fact, you would almost think that there were no fools in their days, but unluckily they themselves are left as an example.
Alexander Pope
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Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.
Alexander Pope
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Mankind is unamendable.
Alexander Pope