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Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.

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
Parts
None
Licks
Pride
Shocks
Trust
Creep
Beauty
Creeps
Character
Wit
Shock
Dust

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How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, and love the offender, yet detest the offence?
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Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, Born where Heav'n influence scarce can penetrate. In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like, They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
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A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.
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Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes And when in act they cease, in prospect rise.
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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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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.
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Art still followed where Rome's eagles flew.
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Old men, for the most part, are like old chronicles that give you dull but true accounts of times past, and are worth knowing only on that score.
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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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True politeness consists in being easy one's self, and in making every one about one as easy as one can.
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Did some more sober critics come abroad? If wrong, I smil'd if right, I kiss'd the rod.
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Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.
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See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbor to embrace.
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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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Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries all.
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So upright Quakers please both man and God.
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Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore full well they merit all they feel, and more: unaw by precepts, human or divine, like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join.
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Men must be taught as if you taught them not, and things unknown proposed as things forgot.
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Some to conceit alone their taste confine, And glittering thoughts struck out at ev'ry line Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit.
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Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Alexander Pope