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Alexander Pope
Then unbelieving priests...
Then unbelieving priests reformed the nation,
And taught more pleasant methods of...
They shift the...
They shift the moving toyshop of their heart.
Source: The Rape of the Lock, I....
True ease in...
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
'Tis not...
The vulgar boil,...
The vulgar boil, the learned roast an egg.
Source: Satires and Epistles of Horace...
Satire's my weapon,...
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
This long disease,...
This long disease, my life.
Source: Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, 132
-- Alexander...
To be angry...
To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.
Source: In
True wit is...
True wit is nature to advantage dressed,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well...
There goes a...
There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said,
Old fish at table, but young flesh in...
See how the...
See how the world its veterans rewards!
A youth of frolics, an old age of cards.
Thou wert my...
Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend.
Source: An Essay on Man, IV. 390
--...
To happy convents,...
To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines,
Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines.
Vital spark of...
Vital spark of heav'nly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the...
To endeavor to...
To endeavor to work upon the vulgar with fine sense is like attempting to hew blocks with a...
See my lips...
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying...
Tis education forms...
Tis education forms the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.
To observations which...
To observations which ourselves we make
We grow more partial for th' observer's sake.
Were there one...
Were there one whose fires
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires;
Blest with each talent and each art to...
Vice is a...
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her...
Shakespeare . ....
Shakespeare . . .
For gain not glory, winged his roving flight,
And grew immortal in his own...