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Poets heap virtues, painters gems, at will, And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.

Alexander Pope

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Alexander Pope
Age: 56 †
Born: 1688
Born: May 21
Died: 1744
Died: May 30
Literary Historian
Poet
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the City
Pope the Poet
Alexander I Pope
Alexander
I Pope
Virtue
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More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
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Vices and virtues are of a strange nature, for the more we have, the fewer we think we have.
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Truth shines the brighter, clad in verse.
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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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Tis use alone that sanctifies expense And splendor borrow all her rays from sense.
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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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Extremes in nature equal ends produce In man they join to some mysterious use.
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The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, forever, and forever! Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
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Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss.
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Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
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One self-approving hour whole years outweighs.
Alexander Pope
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The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
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How do we know that we have a right to kill creatures that we are so little above, as dogs, for our curiosity or even for some use to us?
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Virtue alone is happiness below.
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Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise.
Alexander Pope
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Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
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Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Alexander Pope
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Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.
Alexander Pope
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Why did I write? What sin to me unknown dipped me in ink, my parents , or my own?
Alexander Pope