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O let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's sake.

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
Joy
Virtue
Secret
Stills
Still
Even
Partake
Sake
Follow

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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How vast a memory has Love!
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Fools admire, but men of sense approve.
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Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, Born where Heav'n influence scarce can penetrate. In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like, They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
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Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.
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I have more zeal than wit.
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Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.
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Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave: Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,- His pride in reasoning, not in acting lies.
Alexander Pope
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A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.
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Whatever is, is right.
Alexander Pope
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A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
Alexander Pope
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All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.
Alexander Pope
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The heart resolves this matter in a trice, Men only feel the smart, but not the vice.
Alexander Pope
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Die of a rose in aromatic pain.
Alexander Pope
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But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure and a small estate.
Alexander Pope
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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.
Alexander Pope
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Old politicians chew on wisdom past, And totter on in business to the last.
Alexander Pope
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The search of our future being is but a needless, anxious, and haste to be knowing, sooner than we can, what, without all this solicitude, we shall know a little later.
Alexander Pope
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What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
Alexander Pope
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While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.
Alexander Pope
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A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.
Alexander Pope