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In a sadly pleasing strain, let the warbling lute complain.

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
Pleasing
Strain
Complain
Complaining
Music
Lute
Sadly

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Is there a parson much bemused in beer, a maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, a clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, who pens a stanza when he should engross?
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What then remains, but well our power to use, And keep good-humor still whate'er we lose? And trust me, dear, good-humor can prevail, When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail.
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Genuine religion is not so much a matter of feeling as a matter of principle.
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The same ambition can destroy or save, and make a patriot as it makes a knave.
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A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.
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When I die, I should be ashamed to leave enough to build me a monument if there were a wanting friend above ground. I would enjoy the pleasure of what I give by giving it alive and seeing another enjoy it.
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Hope springs eternal.
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What is fame? a fancied life in others' breath.
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Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear 'Tis but the funeral of the former year.
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A brave man thinks no one his superior who does him an injury, for he has it then in his power to make himself superior to the other by forgiving it.
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In men, we various ruling passions find In women, two almost divide the kind Those, only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.
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A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
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The ruling passion, be it what it will. The ruling passion conquers reason still.
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Who know but He, whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms, Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind.
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Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgement, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.
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Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly, The light Militia of the lower sky.
Alexander Pope
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Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul Reason's comparing balance rules the whole. Man, but for that no action could attend, And, but for this, were active to no end: Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot Or, meteor-like, flame lawless thro' the void, Destroying others, by himself destroy'd.
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How index-learning turns no student pale, Yet holds the eel of science by the tail!
Alexander Pope
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Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
Alexander Pope
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The zeal of fools offends at any time.
Alexander Pope