Alexander Pope

"We may see the small Value God has for Riches, by the People he gives them to."

[Thoughts on Various Subjects, 1727]

Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile

Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.

Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aërial guard Descend, and sit on each important card: First Ariel perch'd upon a Matadore, Then each, according to the rank they bore; For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, 35 Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. Behold, four Kings in majesty rever'd, With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a flow'r, Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r; 40 Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band, Caps on their heads, and halberts in their hand; And particolour'd troops, a shining train, Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain.

Is it, in Heav'n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

I am his Highness' Dog at Kew; Pray tell me Sir, whose Dog are you?

Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? in every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.

I find myself just in the same situation of mind you describe as your own, heartily wishing the good, that is the quiet of my country, and hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.

Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes; The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods.

Be not the first by whom the new are tired, nor yet the last to lay the old aside.

Man never thinks himself happy, but when he enjoys those things which others want or desire.

Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, they rise, they break, and to that sea return.

The most positive men are the most credulous...

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep.

Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain, Here earth and water seem to strive again, Not chaos-like together crushed and bruised, But, as the world, harmoniously confused: Where order in variety we see, And where, though all things differ, all agree.