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Tis all in vain to keep a constant pother About one vice and fall into another.

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
Vices
Vain
Constant
Fall
Keep
Another
Vice

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And little eagles wave their wings in gold.
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What nature wants, commodious gold bestows 'Tis thus we cut the bread another sows.
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Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.
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Trace Science, then, with Modesty thy guide, First strip off all her equipage of Pride, Deduct what is but Vanity or Dress, Or Learning's Luxury or idleness, Or tricks, to show the stretch of the human brain Mere curious pleasure or ingenious pain.
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But just disease to luxury succeeds, And ev'ry death its own avenger breeds.
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The way of the Creative works through change and transformation, so that each thing receives its true nature and destiny and comes into permanent accord with the Great Harmony: this is what furthers and what perseveres.
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Be silent always when you doubt your sense.
Alexander Pope
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The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712) -Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Stanza 1.
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Words are like Leaves and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
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Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science, fairly worth the seven.
Alexander Pope
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Beauty draws us with a single hair.
Alexander Pope
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Others import yet nobler arts from France, Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.
Alexander Pope
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Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.
Alexander Pope
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Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.
Alexander Pope
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The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Alexander Pope
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Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
Alexander Pope
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The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
Alexander Pope
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Praise is like ambergrease: a little whiff of it, and by snatches, is very agreeable but when a man holds a whole lump of it to your nose, it is a stink, and strikes you down.
Alexander Pope
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To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.
Alexander Pope
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Expression is the dress of thought.
Alexander Pope