And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air.
ALEXANDER POPEThis long disease, my life.
More Alexander Pope Quotes
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Love the offender, yet detest the offense.
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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart.
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Strength of mind is exercise, not rest.
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Beauty draws us with a single hair.
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Get your enemy to read your works in order to mend them, for your friend is so much your second self that he will judge too like you.
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Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.
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Expression is the dress of thought.
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There is a majesty in simplicity.
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Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
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On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.
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Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man’s erring judgement, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.
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Never find fault with the absent.
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Learning is like mercury, one of the most powerful and excellent things in the world in skillful hands; in unskillful, the most mischievous.
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The most positive men are the most credulous.
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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.
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The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d
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We may see the small value God has for riches, by the people he gives them to.
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A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.
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Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
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To err is human; to forgive, divine.
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Truth needs not flowers of speech.
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Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.
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All seems infected that th’ infected spy, As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.
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If, presume not to God to scan; The proper study of Mankind is Man. Plac’d on this isthmus of a middle state, a being darkly wise, and rudely great.
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Great oaks grow from little acorns. He has a green thumb. He has green fingers. He’s sowing his wild oats. Here Ceres’ gifts in waving prospect stand, And nodding tempt the joyful reaper’s hand.
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Conceit is to nature what paint is to beauty; it is not only needless, but it impairs what it would improve.
ALEXANDER POPE