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In adamantine chains shall Death be bound, And Hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound.

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
Future
Tyrants
Death
Bound
Feel
Chains
Feels
Wounds
Bounds
Adamantine
Eternal
Tyrant
Hell
Grim
Shall
Wound

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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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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
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Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
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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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Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow The rest is all but leather and prunello.
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A good-natured man has the whole world to be happy out of.
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Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
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Women use lovers as they do cards they play with them a while, and when they have got all they can by them, throw them away, call for new ones, and then perhaps lose by the new all they got by the old ones.
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Every man has just as much vanity as he wants understanding.
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Wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
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I begin where most people end, with a full conviction of the emptiness of all sorts of ambition, and the unsatisfactory nature of all human pleasures.
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Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
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There never was any party, faction, sect, or cabal whatsoever, in which the most ignorant were not the most violent for a bee is not a busier animal than a blockhead.
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See how the World its Veterans rewards! A Youth of Frolics, an old Age of Cards Fair to no purpose, artful to no end, Young without Lovers, old without a Friend A Fop their Passion, but their Prize a Sot Alive ridiculous, and dead forgot.
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Chaos of thought and passion, all confused Still by himself abused or disabused Created half to rise, and half to fall Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled,- The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.
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But if you'll prosper, mark what I advise, Whom age, and long experience render wise.
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What bosom beast not in his country's cause?
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And you, my Critics! in the chequer'd shade, Admire new light thro' holes yourselves have made.
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Thus God and nature linked the gen'ral frame, And bade self-love and social be the same.
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A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.
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