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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
Secret
Stills
Still
Even
Partake
Sake
Follow
Joy
Virtue

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Tis all in vain to keep a constant pother About one vice and fall into another.
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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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Who dare to love their country, and be poor.
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The good must merit God's peculiar care But who but God can tell us who they are?
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When to mischief mortals bend their will, how soon they find it instruments of ill.
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See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbor to embrace.
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The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.
Alexander Pope
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The zeal of fools offends at any time.
Alexander Pope
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False happiness is like false money it passes for a time as well as the true, and serves some ordinary occasions but when it is brought to the touch, we find the lightness and alloy, and feel the loss.
Alexander Pope
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Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.
Alexander Pope
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Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.
Alexander Pope
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And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.
Alexander Pope
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True friendship's laws are by this rule express'd, Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.
Alexander Pope
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Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows.
Alexander Pope
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A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.
Alexander Pope
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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.
Alexander Pope
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Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, of straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.
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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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.
Alexander Pope
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With sharpen'd sight pale Antiquaries pore, Th' inscription value, but the rust adore. This the blue varnish, that the green endears The sacred rust of twice ten hundred years.
Alexander Pope