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A King Is A Mortal God On Earth, Unto Whom The Living God Hath Lent His Own Name As A Great Honour; But Withal Told Him, He Should Die Like A Man, Lest He Should Be Proud, And Flatter Himself That God Hath With His Name Imparted Unto Him His Nature Also. John Locke, "of A King", The Conduct Of The Understanding: Essays, Moral, Economical, And Political A King May Be A Tool, A Thing Of Straw; But If He Serves To Frighten Our Enemies, And Secure Our Property, It Is Well Enough: A Scarecrow Is A Thing Of Straw, But It Protects The Corn.

-Alexander Pope

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A King Is A

Alexander Pope

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A King Is A Mortal God On Earth, Unto Whom The Living God Hath Lent His Own Name As A Great Honour; But Withal Told Him, He Should Die Like A Man, Lest He Should Be Proud, And Flatter Himself That God Hath With His Name Imparted Unto Him His Nature Also. John Locke, "of A King", The Conduct Of The Understanding: Essays, Moral, Economical, And Political A King May Be A Tool, A Thing Of Straw; But If He Serves To Frighten Our Enemies, And Secure Our Property, It Is Well Enough: A Scarecrow Is A Thing Of Straw, But It Protects The Corn.

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The Finest Minds, Like The Finest Metals, Dissolve The Easiest.

It Is Very Natural For A Young Friend And A Young Lover To Think The Persons They Love Have Nothing To Do But To Please Them.

Only Music Has The Ability To Take You To The Edge Of Reality And Allow You To Peek In For A Moment.

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dress'd What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Express'd; Something Whose Truth Convinced At Sight We Find, That Gives Us Back The Image Of Our Mind. As Shades More Sweetly Recommend The Light, So Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit.

Never Was It Given To Mortal Man - To Lie So Boldly As We Women Can.

You Eat, In Dreams, The Custard Of The Day.

A Brain Of Feathers, And A Heart Of Lead.

Religion Blushing, Veils Her Sacred Fires, And Unawares Morality Expires.

With Too Much Quickness Ever To Be Taught; With Too Much Thinking To Have Common Thought.

The Vanity Of Human Life Is Like A River, Constantly Passing Away, And Yet Constantly Coming On.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought, And Still Appears More Decent As More Suitable; A Vile Conceit In Pompous Words Express'd, Is Like A Clown In Regal Purple Dress'd.

I Have More Zeal Than Wit.

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.

It Often Happens That Those Are The Best People Whose Characters Have Been Most Injured By Slanderers: As We Usually Find That To Be The Sweetest Fruit Which The Birds Have Been Picking At.

Every Professional Was Once An Amateur.

What Dire Offence From Am'rous Causes Springs, What Mighty Contests Rise From Trivial Things.

I Am His Highness' Dog At Kew; Pray Tell Me, Sir, Whose Dog Are You?

A Pear-tree Planted Nigh: 'twas Charg'd With Fruit That Made A Goodly Show, And Hung With Dangling Pears Was Every Bough.

Jarring Interests Of Themselves Create The According Music Of A Well-mixed State.

No One Should Be Ashamed To Admit They Are Wrong, Which Is But Saying, In Other Words, That They Are Wiser Today Than They Were Yesterday.

Vast Chain Of Being! Which From God Began, Natures Ethereal, Human, Angel, Man, Beast, Bird, Fish, Insect, What No Eye Can See, No Glass Can Reach, From Infinite To Thee, From Thee To Nothing.

If A Man's Character Is To Be Abused There's Nobody Like A Relative To Do The Business.

Love, Hope, And Joy, Fair Pleasure's Smiling Train, Hate, Fear, And Grief, The Family Of Pain, These Mix'd With Art, And To Due Bounds Confin'd Make And Maintain The Balance Of The Mind.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confus'd.

And Seem To Walk On Wings, And Tread In Air.

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?

Like Following Life Through Creatures You Dissect, You Lose It In The Moment You Detect.

Of Fight Or Fly, This Choice Is Left Ye, To Resist Or Die.

An Honest Man's The Noblest Work Of God.

While Pensive Poets Painful Vigils Keep, Sleepless Themselves, To Give Their Readers Sleep.

Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

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.

Curse On All Laws But Those Which Love Has Made.

And Bear About The Mockery Of Woe To Midnight Dances And The Public Show.

The Doubtful Beam Long Nods From Side To Side.

A God Without Dominion, Providence, And Final Causes, Is Nothing Else But Fate And Nature.

Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

Unthought-of Frailties Cheat Us In The Wise.

Nature Made Every Fop To Plague His Brother, Just As One Beauty Mortifies Another.

Good-nature And Good-sense Must Ever Join; To Err Is Human, To Forgive, Divine.

Whatever Is, Is Right.

Nor In The Critic Let The Man Be Lost.

What Nothing Earthly Gives, Or Can Destroy, The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heart-felt Joy, Is Virtue's Prize.

He Who Serves His Brother Best Gets Nearer God Than All The Rest.

If It Be The Chief Point Of Friendship To Comply With A Friends Motions And Inclinations, He Possesses This In A Eminent Degree; He Lies Down When I Sit, And Walks When I Walk, Which Is More Than Many Good Friends Can Pretend To Do.

All Other Goods By Fortune's Hand Are Given, A Wife Is The Peculiar Gift Of Heaven.

Where Beams Of Imagination Play, The Memory's Soft Figures Melt Away.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

Blest Paper-credit! Last And Best Supply! That Lends Corruption Lighter Wings To Fly!

When I Die, I Should Be Ashamed To Leave Enough To Build Me A Monument If There Were A Wanting Friend Above Ground. I Would Enjoy The Pleasure Of What I Give By Giving It Alive And Seeing Another Enjoy It.

Judge Not Of Actions By Their Mere Effect; Dive To The Center, And The Cause Detect. Great Deeds From Meanest Springs May Take Their Course, And Smallest Virtues From A Mighty Source.

Whenever I Find A Great Deal Of Gratitude In A Poor Man, I Take It For Granted There Would Be As Much Generosity If He Were A Rich Man.

Seas Roll To Waft Me, Suns To Light Me Rise; My Footstool Earth, My Canopy The Skies.

The Vulgar Boil, The Learned Roast, An Egg.

But Just Disease To Luxury Succeeds, And Ev'ry Death Its Own Avenger Breeds.

Disease And Death

Virtuous And Vicious Every Man Must Be, Few In The Extreme, But All In The Degree.

Slave To No Sect, Who Takes No Private Road, But Looks Through Nature Up To Nature's God.

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit, There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It

When To Mischief Mortals Bend Their Will, How Soon They Find It Instruments Of Ill.

Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

The Ruling Passion, Be It What It Will. The Ruling Passion Conquers Reason Still.

The Young Disease, That Must Subdue At Length, Grows With His Growth, And Strengthens With His Strength.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?

Tis Thus The Mercury Of Man Is Fix'd, Strong Grows The Virtue With His Nature Mix'd.

Lo! The Poor Indian, Whose Untutored Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind.

From Nature's Chain Whatever Link You Strike, Tenth Or Ten Thousandth, Breaks The Chain Alike.

O Let Us Still The Secret Joy Partake, To Follow Virtue Even For Virtue's Sake.

Learn To Live Well, Or Fairly Make Your Will; You've Play'd, And Lov'd, And Ate, And Drank Your Fill: Walk Sober Off, Before A Sprightlier Age Comes Titt'ring On, And Shoves You From The Stage.

What Can Ennoble Sots, Or Slaves, Or Cowards? Alas! Not All The Blood, Of All The Howards.

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be.

The Season When To Come, And When To Go, To Sing, Or Cease To Sing, We Never Know.

Persons Of Genius, And Those Who Are Most Capable Of Art, Are Always Most Fond Of Nature: As Such Are Chiefly Sensible, That All Art Consists In The Imitation And Study Of Nature.

Know Then This Truth, Enough For Man To Know Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

Heav'n From All Creatures Hides The Book Of Fate, All But The Page Prescribed, Their Present State: From Brutes What Men, From Men What Spirits Know: Or Who Could Suffer Being Here Below?

Our Passions Are Like Convulsion Fits, Which, Though They Make Us Stronger For A Time, Leave Us The Weaker Ever After.

Interspersed In Lawn And Opening Glades, Thin Trees Arise That Shun Each Others' Shades.

True Politeness Consists In Being Easy One's Self, And In Making Every One About One As Easy As One Can.

The Hungry Judges Soon The Sentence Sign, And Wretches Hang That Jurymen May Dine.

Most Authors Steal Their Works, Or Buy.

Then Marble, Soften'd Into Life, Grew Warm.

We Ought, In Humanity, No More To Despise A Man For The Misfortunes Of The Mind Than For Those Of The Body, When They Are Such As He Cannot Help; Were This Thoroughly Considered We Should No More Laugh At A Man For Having His Brains Cracked Than For Having His Head Broke.

E'en Sunday Shines No Sabbath Day To Me.

Let Opening Roses Knotted Oaks Adorn, And Liquid Amber Drop From Every Thorn.

The Dull Flat Falsehood Serves For Policy, And In The Cunning, Truth's Itself A Lie.

Health Consists With Temperance Alone.

Hope Travels Through, Nor Quits Us When We Die.

Whate'er The Passion, Knowledge, Fame, Or Pelf, Not One Will Change His Neighbor With Himself.

Oh, When Shall Britain, Conscious Of Her Claim, Stand Emulous Of Greek And Roman Fame? In Living Medals See Her Wars Enroll'd, And Vanquished Realms Supply Recording Gold?

All Are But Parts Of One Stupendous Whole, Whose Body Nature Is, And God The Soul.

Pleas'd Look Forward, Pleas'd To Look Behind,and Count Each Birthday With A Grateful Mind.

What Reason Weaves, By Passion Is Undone.

So Upright Quakers Please Both Man And God.

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise And Rudely Great... He Hangs Between; In Doubt To Act Or Rest; In Doubt To Deem Himself A God, Or Beast; In Doubt His Mind Or Body To Prefer; Born To Die, And Reasoning But To Err.

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.

Truths Would You Teach, Or Save A Sinking Land? All Fear, None Aid You, And Few Understand.

Oh, Blindness To The Future! Kindly Giv'n, That Each May Fill The Circle Mark'd By Heaven.

The Life Of A Wit Is A Warfare Upon Earth.

Most Women Have No Characters At All.

Pretty Conceptions, Fine Metaphors, Glittering Expressions, And Something Of A Neat Cast Of Verse Are Properly The Dress, Gems, Or Loose Ornaments Of Poetry.

To What Base Ends, And By What Abject Ways, Are Mortals Urg'd Through Sacred Lust Of Praise!

One Self-approving Hour Whole Years Outweighs.

Yet Graceful Ease, And Sweetness Void Of Pride, Might Hide Her Faults, If Belles Had Faults To Hide: If To Her Share Some Female Errors Fall, Look On Her Face, And You'll Forget 'em All.

Give Me Again My Hollow Tree A Crust Of Bread, And Liberty!

The Search Of Our Future Being Is But A Needless, Anxious, And Haste To Be Knowing, Sooner Than We Can, What, Without All This Solicitude, We Shall Know A Little Later.

O Love! For Sylvia Let Me Gain The Prize, And Make My Tongue Victorious As Her Eyes.

Virtue She Finds Too Painful An Endeavour, Content To Dwell In Decencies For Ever.

Silence! Coeval With Eternity! Thou Wert Ere Nature's Self Began To Be; Thine Was The Sway Ere Heaven Was Formed On Earth, Ere Fruitful Thought Conceived Creation's Birth.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Of It Deeply, Or Taste It Not, For Shallow Thoughts Intoxicate The Brain, And Drinking Deeply Sobers Us Again.

In Every Work Regard The Writer's End, Since None Can Compass More Than They Intend.

And Soften'd Sounds Along The Waters Die: Smooth Flow The Waves, The Zephyrs Gently Play.

Destroy All Creatures For Thy Sport Or Gust, Yet Cry, If Man's Unhappy, God's Unjust.

An Excuse Is Worse And More Terrible Than A Lie; For An Excuse Is A Lie Guarded.

To Buy Books As Some Do Who Make No Use Of Them, Only Because They Were Published By An Eminent Printer, Is Much As If A Man Should Buy Clothes That Did Not Fit Him, Only Because They Were Made By Some Famous Tailor.

Be Not The First By Whom The New Are Tried, Nor Yet The Last To Lay The Old Aside.

Such Labour'd Nothings, In So Strange A Style, Amaze Th' Unlearn'd And Make The Learned Smile.

No Louder Shrieks To Pitying Heaven Are Cast, When Husbands Or Lap-dogs Breathe Their Last.

There Is A Majesty In Simplicity.

Whether With Reason, Or With Instinct Blest, Know, All Enjoy That Pow'r Which Suits Them Best.

But If You'll Prosper, Mark What I Advise, Whom Age, And Long Experience Render Wise.

The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heartfelt Joy.

What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song?

A Generous Friendship No Cold Medium Knows, Burns With One Love, With One Resentment Glows.

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fixed, 'tis Fixed As In A Frost.

In This Commonplace World Every One Is Said To Be Romantic Who Either Admires A Fine Thing Or Does One.

What Riches Give Us Let Us Then Inquire: Meat, Fire, And Clothes. What More? Meat, Clothes, And Fire. Is This Too Little?

Plays Round The Head, But Comes Not To The Heart. One Self-approving Hour Whole Years Outweighs Of Stupid Starers And Of Loud Huzzas; And More True Joy Marcellus Exil'd Feels Than Cæsar With A Senate At His Heels. In Parts Superior What Advantage Lies? Tell (for You Can) What Is It To Be Wise? 't Is But To Know How Little Can Be Known; To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

Presumptuous Man! The Reason Wouldst Thou Find,why Form'd So Weak, So Little, And So Blind?first, If Thou Canst, The Harder Reason Guess,why Form'd No Weaker, Blinder, And No Less!ask Of Thy Mother Earth, Why Oaks Are Madetaller Or Stronger Than The Weeds They Shade?or Ask Of Yonder Argent Fields Above,why Jove's Satellites Are Less Than Jove?

The Heart Resolves This Matter In A Trice, "men Only Feel The Smart, But Not The Vice.

Some Positive Persisting Fops We Know, Who, If Once Wrong, Will Needs Be Always So; But You With Pleasure Own Your Errors Past, And Make Each Day A Critique On The Last.

A Youth Of Frolic, An Old Age Of Cards.

Genius Creates, And Taste Preserves. Taste Is The Good Sense Of Genius; Without Taste, Genius Is Only Sublime Folly.

All Nature's Diff'rence Keeps All Nature's Peace.

Ah! What Avails It Me The Flocks To Keep, Who Lost My Heart While I Preserv'd My Sheep.

To Observations Which Ourselves We Make, We Grow More Partial For Th' Observer's Sake.

Pride, Where Wit Fails, Steps In To Our Defence, And Fills Up All The Mighty Void Of Sense.

Search Then The Ruling Passion: This Clue, Once Found, Unravels All The Rest.

Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense.

If Faith Itself Has Different Dresses Worn, What Wonder Modes In Wit Should Take Their Turn?

Say, Will The Falcon, Stooping From Above, Smit With Her Varying Plumage, Spare The Dove? Admires The Jay The Insect's Gilded Wings? Or Hears The Hawk When Philomela Sings?

The Villain's Censure Is Extorted Praise.

Fame Can Never Make Us Lie Down Contentedly On A Deathbed.

Oh! If To Dance All Night, And Dress All Day, Charm'd The Small-pox, Or Chas'd Old Age Away; . . . . To Patch, Nay Ogle, Might Become A Saint, Nor Could It Sure Be Such A Sin To Paint.

For Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife, Though Meant Each Other's Aid, Like Man And Wife.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows.

Taste, That Eternal Wanderer, Which Flies From Head To Ears, And Now From Ears To Eyes.

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?

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

Lulled In The Countless Chambers Of The Brain, Our Thoughts Are Linked By Many A Hidden Chain; Awake But One, And In, What Myriads Rise!

Charm Strikes The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

Education Forms The Common Mind.

The Same Ambition Can Destroy Or Save, And Make A Patriot As It Makes A Knave.

Fly, Dotard, Fly! With Thy Wise Dreams And Fables Of The Sky.

Do You Find Yourself Making Excuses When You Do Not Perform? Shed The Excuses And Face Reality. Excuses Are The Loser's Way Out. They Will Mar Your Credibility And Stunt Your Personal Growth.

Finding Yourself

Tis True, 'tis Certain; Man, Though Dead, Retains Part Of Himself; The Immortal Mind Remains.

Grave Authors Say, And Witty Poets Sing, That Honest Wedlock Is A Glorious Thing.

The Scripture In Times Of Disputes Is Like An Open Town In Times Of War, Which Serves In Differently The Occasions Of Both Parties.

Not Always Actions Show The Man; We Find Who Does A Kindness Is Not Therefore Kind.

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?

Love Seldom Haunts The Breast Where Learning Lies, And Venus Sets Ere Mercury Can Rise.

But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company.

A Wit With Dunces, And A Dunce With Wits.

The Good Must Merit God's Peculiar Care; But Who But God Can Tell Us Who They Are?

He Best Can Paint Them Who Shall Feel Them Most.

All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See

Where Grows?--where Grows It Not? If Vain Our Toil, We Ought To Blame The Culture, Not The Soil.

Consult The Genius Of The Place In All.

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

Some Have At First For Wits, Then Poets Passed, Turned Critics Next, And Proved Plain Fools At Last.

All Looks Yellow To The Jaundiced Eye. [and Therefore The Solution Is To Fix The Jaundiced Eye.]

Talk What You Will Of Taste, My Friend, You'll Find Two Of A Face As Soon As Of A Mind.

That Character In Conversation Which Commonly Passes For Agreeable Is Made Up Of Civility And Falsehood.

Some People Will Never Learn Anything, For This Reason, Because They Understand Everything Too Soon.

Virtue May Choose The High Or Low Degree, 'tis Just Alike To Virtue, And To Me; Dwell In A Monk, Or Light Upon A King, She's Still The Same Belov'd, Contented Thing.

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

The Enormous Faith Of Many Made For One.

I Believe It Is No Wrong Observation, That Persons Of Genius, And Those Who Are Most Capable Of Art, Are Always Fond Of Nature, As Such Are Chiefly Sensible, That All Art Consists In The Imitation And Study Of Nature. On The Contrary, People Of The Common Level Of Understanding Are Principally Delighted With The Little Niceties And Fantastical Operations Of Art, And Constantly Think That Finest Which Is Least Natural.

Absent Or Dead, Still Let A Friend Be Dear.

Lo, What Huge Heaps Of Littleness Around!

The Lamb Thy Riot Dooms To Bleed Today, Had He Thy Reason, Would He Skip And Play? Pleas'd To The Last He Crops The Flow'ry Food, And Licks The Hand Just Rais'd To Shed His Blood.

Who Finds Not Providence All Good And Wise, Alike In What It Gives, And What Denies.

By Flatterers Besieged And So Obliging That He Ne'er Obliged.

Get Place And Wealth, If Possible With Grace; If Not, By Any Means Get Wealth And Place.

Women, As They Are Like Riddles In Being Unintelligible, So Generally Resemble Them In This, That They Please Us No Longer Once We Know Them.

Some People Are Commended For A Giddy Kind Of Good-humor, Which Is As Much A Virtue As Drunkenness.

For Forms Of Faith Let Graceless Zealots Fight; His Can't Be Wrong Whose Life Is In The Right.

Of Little Use, The Man You May Suppose, Who Says In Verse What Others Say In Prose; Yet Let Me Show A Poet's Of Some Weight, And (though No Soldier) Useful To The State, What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song? What Better Teach A Foreigner The Tongue? What's Long Or Short, Each Accent Where To Place And Speak In Public With Some Sort Of Grace?

What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.

Ten Censure Wrong For One Who Writes Amiss.

Bear, Like The Turk, No Brother Near The Throne.

As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows The Tree.

And Write About It, Goddess, And About It!

Ye Gods, Annihilate But Space And Time, And Make Two Lovers Happy.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing.

For What I Have Publish'd, I Can Only Hope To Be Pardon'd; But For What I Have Burned, I Deserve To Be Prais'd.

There Is No Study That Is Not Capable Of Delighting Us After A Little Application To It.

A Man Of Business May Talk Of Philosophy; A Man Who Has None May Practice It.

A Perfect Woman's But A Softer Man.

There Never Was Any Party, Faction, Sect, Or Cabal Whatsoever, In Which The Most Ignorant Were Not The Most Violent; For A Bee Is Not A Busier Animal Than A Blockhead.

To Pardon Those Absurdities In Ourselves Which We Cannot Suffer In Others Is Neither Better Nor Worse Than To Be More Willing To Be Fools Ourselves Than To Have Others So.

But Honest Instinct Comes A Volunteer; Sure Never To O'er-shoot, But Just To Hit, While Still Too Wide Or Short In Human Wit.

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