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A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.

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
Rous
Repairs
Tongue
Heart

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Genius creates, and taste preserves.
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Good-humor only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests and maintains the past.
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Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Just as one beauty mortifies another.
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Rogues in rags are kept in countenance by rogues in ruffles.
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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.
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But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?
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Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
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There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, ''Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed.
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Only music has the ability to take you to the edge of reality and allow you to peek in for a moment.
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Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.
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The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind, Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind, Whole nations enter with each swelling tide, And seas but join the regions they divide Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, And the new world launch forth to seek the old.
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Grave authors say, and witty poets sing, That honest wedlock is a glorious thing.
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From the moment one sets up for an author, one must be treated as ceremoniously, that is as unfaithfully, as a king's favorite or a king.
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The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
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But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decay, Time conquers all, and we must time obey.
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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.
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E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me.
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Envy will merit as its shade pursue, But like a shadow, proves the substance true.
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Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore full well they merit all they feel, and more: unaw by precepts, human or divine, like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join.
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Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
Alexander Pope