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Let Joy or Ease, let Affluence or Content, And the gay Conscience of a life well spent, Calm ev'ry thought, inspirit ev'ry grace, Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.

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
Well
Conscience
Affluence
Heart
Joy
Glow
Life
Grace
Ease
Face
Content
Faces
Gay
Upon
Calm
Thought
Spent
Wells
Smile

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Tis strange the miser should his cares employTo gain those riches he can ne'er enjoyIs it less strange the prodigal should wasteHis wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
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And empty heads console with empty sound.
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We ought, in humanity, no more to despise a man for the misfortunes of the mind than for those of the body, when they are such as he cannot help were this thoroughly considered we should no more laugh at a man for having his brains cracked than for having his head broke.
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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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A man of business may talk of philosophy a man who has none may practice it.
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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
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Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed was the ninth beatitude.
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Pleas'd look forward, pleas'd to look behind,And count each birthday with a grateful mind.
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'Tis not enough your counsel still be true Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.
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Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.
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The vanity of human life is like a river, constantly passing away, and yet constantly coming on.
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But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.
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Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
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What is fame? a fancied life in others' breath.
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Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
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Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense weigh thy opinion against Providence.
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Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
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A perfect woman's but a softer man.
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Chiefs who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice - A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.
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Fine sense and exalted sense are not half so useful as common sense. There are forty men of wit for one man of sense and he that will carry nothing about him but gold, will be every day at a loss for want of readier change.
Alexander Pope