Alexander Pope Quotes

Let Sporus tremble—'What? That thing of silk, Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk? Satire or sense, alas, can Sporus feel, Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?' Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings; Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys:
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British poet. Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. . . Poetical Works [Alexander Pope]. Herbert Davis, ed. (1978; repr. 1990) Oxford University Press.
(1) (0)
The skilful Nymph reviews her force with care: Let Spades be trumps! she said, and trumps they were.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British poet. The Rape of the Lock (Fr. III). . . Poetical Works [Alexander Pope]. Herbert Davis, ed. (1978; repr. 1990) Oxford University Press.
(1) (0)
The Muse but served to ease some friend, not wife, To help me through this long disease, my life;
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British poet. Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. . . Poetical Works [Alexander Pope]. Herbert Davis, ed. (1978; repr. 1990) Oxford University Press.
(0) (0)
The Nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky; The walls, the woods, and long canals reply.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British poet. The Rape of the Lock (Fr. III). . . Poetical Works [Alexander Pope]. Herbert Davis, ed. (1978; repr. 1990) Oxford University Press.
(1) (0)
His wit all see-saw, between that and this, Now high, now low, now Master up, now Miss, And he himself one vile antithesis.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British poet. Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. . . Poetical Works [Alexander Pope]. Herbert Davis, ed. (1978; repr. 1990) Oxford University Press.
(0) (0)
The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British satirical poet. The Rape of the Lock, cto. 3, l. 21-2 (1714).
(1) (0)
Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own?
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British satirical poet. Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, l. 125-6 (1735).
(0) (0)
At ev'ry word a reputation dies.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British satirical poet. The Rape of the Lock, cto. 3, l. 16 (1714).
(3) (0)
A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find; But each man's secret standard in his mind, That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, This, who can gratify, for who can guess?
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British poet. Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. . . Poetical Works [Alexander Pope]. Herbert Davis, ed. (1978; repr. 1990) Oxford University Press.
(2) (0)
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744), British poet. The Rape of the Lock (Fr. I). . . Poetical Works [Alexander Pope]. Herbert Davis, ed. (1978; repr. 1990) Oxford University Press.
(1) (0)