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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?

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
Wealth
Fire
Give
Littles
Little
Inquire
Giving
Riches
Meat
Clothes

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Hope springs eternal.
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To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
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All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.
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A pear-tree planted nigh: 'Twas charg'd with fruit that made a goodly show, And hung with dangling pears was every bough.
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An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie for an excuse is a lie guarded.
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Still follow sense, of ev'ry art the soul, Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole.
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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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A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.
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And hence one master-passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.
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The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.
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The good must merit God's peculiar care But who but God can tell us who they are?
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Love, Hope, and Joy, fair pleasure's smiling train, Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of pain, These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confin'd Make and maintain the balance of the mind.
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Nothing is more certain than much of the force as well as grace, of arguments or instructions depends their conciseness.
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Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
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Know, Nature's children all divide her care, The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear.
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Heaven breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.
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A mighty maze! But not without a plan.
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Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
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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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What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood, of all the Howards.
Alexander Pope