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See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!

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
Dead
Tombs
Years
Rome
Like
Temples
Appears
Sepulchre
Wild
Nodding
Spread
Devouring
Waste
Arches
Broken
Vanish

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Words are like Leaves and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
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Age and want sit smiling at the gate.
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True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
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Mankind is unamendable.
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Tis use alone that sanctifies expense And splendor borrow all her rays from sense.
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The proper study of Mankind is Man.
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Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.
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A mighty maze! But not without a plan.
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He who serves his brother best gets nearer God than all the rest.
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Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare And beauty draws us with a single hair.
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What riches give us let us then inquire: Meat, fire, and clothes. What more? Meat, clothes, and fire. Is this too little?
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Simplicity is the mean between ostentation and rusticity.
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No woman ever hates a man for being in love with her, but many a woman hate a man for being a friend to her.
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By flatterers besieged And so obliging that he ne'er obliged.
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As some to Church repair, not for the doctrine, but the music there.
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And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air.
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By music minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. . . . . Warriors she fires with animated sounds. Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds.
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All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers hushed are the birds, and closed the drooping flowers.
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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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