Quote

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.

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
Mind
Lows
Bleeding
Lovers
Animated
Minds
Sink
Equal
Temper
Balm
Fire
Lover
Pours
High
Warrior
Swell
Sound
Wounds
Warriors
Music
Sounds
Fires

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Wine lets no lover unrewarded go.
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But see how oft ambition's aims are cross'd, and chiefs contend 'til all the prize is lost!
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An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie for an excuse is a lie guarded.
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What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.
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Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.
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In a sadly pleasing strain, let the warbling lute complain.
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Charm strikes the sight, but merit wins the soul.
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What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood, of all the Howards.
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You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.
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The difference is as great between The optics seeing as the objects seen. All manners take a tincture from our own Or come discolor'd through out passions shown Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.
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Yes, I am proud I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God, afraid of me.
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Silence! coeval with eternity! thou wert ere Nature's self began to be thine was the sway ere heaven was formed on earth, ere fruitful thought conceived creation's birth.
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Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.
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Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
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Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
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chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd.
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The dull flat falsehood serves for policy, and in the cunning, truth's itself a lie.
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Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.
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Wit and judgment often are at strife.
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To pardon those absurdities in ourselves which we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor worse than to be more willing to be fools ourselves than to have others so.
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