Alexander Pope Quotes

Posted by Brian

A long, exact, and serious comedy; In every scene some moral let it teach, And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
– Alexander Pope

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
– Alexander Pope

Ask you what provocation I have had? The strong antipathy of good to bad.
– Alexander Pope

At length corruption, like a general flood (So long by watchful ministers withstood), Shall deluge all; and avarice, creeping on, Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun.
– Alexander Pope

Be niggards of advice on no pretense; For the worst avarice is that of sense.
– Alexander Pope

Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
– Alexander Pope

Condition, circumstance, is not the thing; Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
– Alexander Pope

Condemned whole years in absence to deplore, And image charms he must behold no more.
– Alexander Pope

For fools admire, but me of sense approve.
– Alexander Pope

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
– Alexander Pope

Fools admire, but men of sense approve.
– Alexander Pope

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
– Alexander Pope

Here Ceres’ gifts in waving prospect stand, And nodding tempt the joyful reaper’s hand.
– Alexander Pope

Hear how the birds, on ev’ry blooming spray, With joyous musick wake the dawning day.
– Alexander Pope

I was not born for Courts or great affairs; I pay my debts, believe, and say my pray’rs.
– Alexander Pope

In Faith and Hope the world will disagree, But all mankind’s concern is charity.
– Alexander Pope

Is not absence death to those who love?
– Alexander Pope

Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.
– Alexander Pope

No silver saints, by dying misers giv’n, Here brib’d the rage of ill-requited heav’n; But such plain roofs as Piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker’s praise.
– Alexander Pope

Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise. By mountains pil’d on mountains to the skies? Heav’n still with laughter the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
– Alexander Pope

Our rural ancestors with little blest, Patient of labour when the end was rest, Indulg’d the day that hous’d their annual grain, With feasts, and off’rings, and a thankful strain.
– Alexander Pope

There still remains to mortify a wit The many-headed monster of the pit.
– Alexander Pope

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o’er each scene, and be what they behold– For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage.
– Alexander Pope

What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood, of all the Howards.
– Alexander Pope

Where grows?–where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
– Alexander Pope

Who know but He, whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms, Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar’s mind.
– Alexander Pope

Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.
– Alexander Pope

Your scene precariously subsists too long, On French translation and Italian song. Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage; Be justly warm’d with your own native rage.
– Alexander Pope


One Comment »

  • sunny said:

    Hi there. I like your website, each n everything. Here are some more quotes for your collection. :-

    Fear not the anger of the wise to raise; Those best can fear reproof who merit praise.

    What beck’ning ghost along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

    Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause.

    Ye flowers that drop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, Ye trees that fade, when Autumn heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love?

    Thus sung the shepherds till th’ approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck’d the glade, And the low sun had lengthened every shade.

    In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From pois’nous herbs extracts the healing dew?

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