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

-Alexander Pope

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All Are But Parts

Alexander Pope

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

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Ah! Why, Ye Gods, Should Two And Two Make Four?

That Virtue Only Makes Our Bliss Below, And All Our Knowledge Is Ourselves To Know.

What Is Fame? A Fancied Life In Others' Breath.

Be Niggards Of Advice On No Pretense; For The Worst Avarice Is That Of Sense.

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

Who Sees With Equal Eye, As God Of All, A Hero Perish Or A Sparrow Fall, Atoms Or Systems Into Ruin Hurl'd, And Now A Bubble Burst, And Now A World.

All Nature Is But Art, Unknown To Thee All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See; All Discord, Harmony Not Understood; All Partial Evil, Universal Good.

And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd Shade, Admire New Light Thro' Holes Yourselves Have Made.

Luxurious Lobster-nights, Farewell, For Sober, Studious Days!

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing.

A Gen'rous Heart Repairs A Sland'rous Tongue.

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

Why Did I Write? What Sin To Me Unknown Dipped Me In Ink, My Parents , Or My Own?

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

Truth Needs Not Flowers Of Speech.

Two Purposes In Human Nature Rule. Self- Love To Urge, And Reason To Restrain.

See Plastic Nature Working To This End, The Single Atoms Each To Other Tend, Attract, Attracted To, The Next In Place Form'd And Impell'd Its Neighbor To Embrace.

Awake, My St. John! Leave All Meaner Things To Low Ambition And The Pride Of Kings. Let Us (since Life Can Little More Supply Than Just To Look About Us, And To Die) Expatiate Free O'er All This Scene Of Man; A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See

Chiefs Who No More In Bloody Fights Engage, But Wise Through Time, And Narrative With Age, In Summer-days Like Grasshoppers Rejoice - A Bloodless Race, That Send A Feeble Voice.

I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

For Critics, As They Are Birds Of Prey, Have Ever A Natural Inclination To Carrion.

Our Proper Bliss Depends On What We Blame.

But Thousands Die Without Or This Or That, Die, And Endow A College Or A Cat.

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

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

The Mouse That Always Trusts To One Poor Hole Can Never Be A Mouse Of Any Soul.

With The Mistake Your Life Goes In Reverse. Now You Can See Exactly What You Did Wrong Yesterday And Wrong The Day Before And Each Mistake Leads Back To Something Worse.

The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great Find Rest, And Blended Lie Th' Oppressor And Th' Oppressed!

Oft In Dreams Invention We Bestow To Change A Flounce Or Add A Furbelow.

Fear Not The Anger Of The Wise To Raise; Those Best Can Bear Reproof Who Merit Praise.

And Make Each Day A Critic On The Last.

Fondly We Think We Honor Merit Then, When We But Praise Ourselves In Other Men.

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

The Laughers Are A Majority.

And Hence One Master-passion In The Breast, Like Aaron's Serpent, Swallows Up The Rest.

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

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State.

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

I Begin Where Most People End, With A Full Conviction Of The Emptiness Of All Sorts Of Ambition, And The Unsatisfactory Nature Of All Human Pleasures.

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

E'en Sunday Shines No Sabbath Day To Me.

Fool, 'tis In Vain From Wit To Wit To Roam: Know, Sense, Like Charity, Begins At Home.

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed; What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

Worth Makes The Man, And Want Of It The Fellow; The Rest Is All But Leather And Prunello.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.

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

In A Sadly Pleasing Strain, Let The Warbling Lute Complain.

Never Find Fault With The Absent.

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

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

To Err Is Human; To Forgive, Divine.

The Most Positive Men Are The Most Credulous, Since They Most Believe Themselves, And Advise Most With Their Falsest Flatterer And Worst Enemy--their Own Self-love.

Simplicity Is The Mean Between Ostentation And Rusticity.

How Index-learning Turns No Student Pale, Yet Holds The Eel Of Science By The Tail!

The Sound Must Seem An Echo To The Sense.

Every Man Has Just As Much Vanity As He Wants Understanding.

Who Dare To Love Their Country, And Be Poor.

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.

There Is A Certain Majesty In Simplicity Which Is Far Above All The Quaintness Of Wit.

So Man, Who Here Seems Principal Alone, Perhaps Acts Second To Some Sphere Unknown Touches Some Wheel, Or Verges To Some Goal; 'tis But A Part We See, And Not A Whole.

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.

Pleasures Are Ever In Our Hands Or Eyes; And When In Act They Cease, In Prospect Rise.

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

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

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

Ask You What Provocation I Have Had? The Strong Antipathy Of Good To Bad.

What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song?

Now Warm In Love, Now With'ring In My Bloom Lost In A Convent's Solitary Gloom!

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

The Meeting Points The Sacred Hair Dissever From The Fair Head, Forever, And Forever! Then Flashed The Living Lightning From Her Eyes, And Screams Of Horror Rend Th' Affrighted Skies.

Find, If You Can, In What You Cannot Change. Manners With Fortunes, Humours Turn With Climes, Tenets With Books, And Principles With Times.

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

Genuine Religion Is Not So Much A Matter Of Feeling As A Matter Of Principle.

A Work Of Art That Contains Theories Is Like An Object On Which The Price Tag Has Been Left.

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.

The Approach Of Night The Skies Yet Blushing With Departing Light, When Falling Dews With Spangles Deck'd The Glade, And The Low Sun Had Lengthen'd Ev'ry Shade.

A Tree Is A Nobler Object Than A Prince In His Coronation-robes.

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.

Therefore They Who Say Our Thoughts Are Not Our Own Because They Resemble The Ancients, May As Well Say Our Faces Are Not Our Own, Because They Are Like Our Fathers: And Indeed It Is Very Unreasonable, That People Should Expect Us To Be Scholars, And Yet Be Angry To Find Us So.

So Perish All Who Do The Like Again.

There Is But One Way I Know Of Conversing Safely With All Men; That Is, Not By Concealing What We Say Or Do, But By Saying Or Doing Nothing That Deserves To Be Concealed.

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.

A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

'tis Not Enough Your Counsel Still Be True; Blunt Truths More Mischief Than Nice Falsehoods Do.

On Life's Vast Ocean Diversely We Sail, Reason The Card, But Passion Is The Gale; Nor God Alone In The Still Calm We Find, He Mounts The Storm, And Walks Upon The Wind.

How Shall I Lose The Sin, Yet Keep The Sense, And Love The Offender, Yet Detest The Offence?

For When Success A Lover's Toil Attends,few Ask, If Fraud Or Force Attain'd His Ends

A Naked Lover Bound And Bleeding Lies!

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

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?

Our Rural Ancestors, With Little Blest, Patient Of Labor When The End Was Rest, Indulged The Day That Housed Their Annual Grain, With Feasts, And Off'rings, And A Thankful Strain.

But To The World No Bugbear Is So Great, As Want Of Figure And A Small Estate.

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.

From The Moment One Sets Up For An Author, One Must Be Treated As Ceremoniously, That Is As Unfaithfully, "as A King's Favorite Or A King.

Leave Not A Foot Of Verse, A Foot Of Stone, A Page, A Grave, That They Can Call Their Own; But Spread, My Sons, Your Glory Thin Or Thick, On Passive Paper, Or On Solid Brick.

Party-spirit At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

Pride Is Still Aiming At The Best Houses: Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods. Aspiring To Be Gods, If Angels Fell; Aspiring To Be Angels Men Rebel.

When Rumours Increase, And When There Is An Abundance Of Noise And Clamour, Believe The Second Report.

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

Genius Involves Both Envy And Calumny.

How Instinct Varies In The Grov'ling Swine.

Nature And Nature's Laws Lay Hid In The Night. God Said, Let Newton Be! And All Was Light!

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

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

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

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.

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

The Vulgar Boil, The Learned Roast, An Egg.

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.

Dear, Damned, Distracting Town, Farewell! Thy Fools No More I'll Tease: This Year In Peace, Ye Critics, Dwell, Ye Harlots, Sleep At Ease!

Let Joy Or Ease, Let Affluence Or Content, And The Gay Conscience Of A Life Well Spent, Calm Ev'ry Thought, Inspirit Ev'ry Grace, Glow In Thy Heart, And Smile Upon Thy Face.

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.

Some Old Men, Continually Praise The Time Of Their Youth. In Fact, You Would Almost Think That There Were No Fools In Their Days, But Unluckily They Themselves Are Left As An Example.

To Rest, The Cushion And Soft Dean Invite, Who Never Mentions Hell To Ears Polite.

See Skulking Truth To Her Old Cavern Fled, Mountains Of Casuistry Heap'd O'er Her Head! Philosophy, That Lean'd On Heav'n Before, Shrinks To Her Second Cause, And Is No More. Physic Of Metaphysic Begs Defence, And Metaphysic Calls For Aid On Sense! See Mystery To Mathematics Fly!

Offend Her, And She Knows Not To Forgive; Oblige Her, And She'll Hate You While You Live.

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.

Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

The Bookful Blockhead Ignorantly Read, With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head, With His Own Tongue Still Edifies His Ears, And Always List'ning To Himself Appears. All Books He Reads, And All He Reads Assails.

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.

Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field.

On Wrongs Swift Vengeance Waits.

Praise From A Friend, Or Censure From A Foe, Are Lost On Hearers That Our Merits Know.

Not Half So Swift The Trembling Doves Can Fly, When The Fierce Eagle Cleaves The Liquid Sky; Not Half So Swiftly The Fierce Eagle Moves, When Thro' The Clouds He Drives The Trembling Doves.

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?

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.

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

One Science Only Will One Genius Fit; So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

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.

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

She Who Ne'er Answers Till A Husband Cools, Or, If She Rules Him, Never Shows She Rules; Charms By Accepting, By Submitting, Sways, Yet Has Her Humor Most, When She Obeys.

Men Must Be Taught As If You Taught Them Not, And Things Unknown Proposed As Things Forgot.

Learning Is Like Mercury, One Of The Most Powerful And Excellent Things In The World In Skillful Hands; In Unskillful, The Most Mischievous.

But Touch Me, And No Minister So Sore. Whoe'er Offends, At Some Unlucky Time Slides Into Verse, And Hitches In A Rhyme, Sacred To Ridicule His Whole Life Long, And The Sad Burthen Of Some Merry Song.

Behold The Child, By Nature's Kindly Law Pleased With A Rattle, Tickled With A Straw.

Whate'er The Talents, Or Howe'er Designed, We Hang One Jingling Padlock On The Mind.

From Vulgar Bounds With Brave Disorder Part, And Snatch A Grace Beyond The Reach Of Art.

Who Breaks A Butterfly On A Wheel?

Gentle Dullness Ever Loves A Joke.

Sleep And Death, Two Twins Of Winged Race, Of Matchless Swiftness, But Of Silent Pace.

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled: / The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World!

The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot. Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind! Each Pray'r Accepted, And Each Wish Resign'd

As With Narrow-necked Bottles; The Less They Have In Them, The More Noise They Make In Pouring Out.

Ladies, Like Variegated Tulips, Show 'tis To Their Changes Half Their Charms We Owe.

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.

Wholesome Solitude, The Nurse Of Sense!

While I Live, No Rich Or Noble Knave Shall Walk The World In Credit To His Grave.

What Some Call Health, If Purchased By Perpetual Anxiety About Diet, Isn't Much Better Than Tedious Disease.

"with Ev'ry Pleasing, Ev'ry Prudent Part, Say, What Can Chloe Want?"-she Wants A Heart.

For He Lives Twice Who Can At Once Employ, The Present Well, And E'en The Past Enjoy.

Time Management

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

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

He Knows To Live Who Keeps The Middle State, And Neither Leans On This Side Nor On That.

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

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

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.

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

Disease And Death

Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.

Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.

Go, Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

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.

I Have More Zeal Than Wit.

An Honest Man's The Noblest Work Of God.

True Ease In Writing Comes From Art, Not Chance, As Those Move Easiest Who Have Learned To Dance.

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

Learn From The Birds What Food The Thickets Yield; Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field; The Arts Of Building From The Bee Receive; Learn Of The Mole To Plow, The Worm To Weave.

Who Sees Pale Mammom Pine Amidst His Store, Sees But A Backward Steward For The Poor.

A Disputant No More Cares For The Truth Than The Sportsman For The Hare.

Who Shall Decide When Doctors Disagree, And Soundest Casuists Doubt, Like You And Me?

A Long, Exact, And Serious Comedy; In Every Scene Some Moral Let It Teach, And, If It Can, At Once Both Please And Preach.

True Friendship's Laws Are By This Rule Express'd, Welcome The Coming, Speed The Parting Guest.

The Character Of Covetousness, Is What A Man Generally Acquires More Through Some Niggardliness Or Ill Grace In Little And Inconsiderable Things, Than In Expenses Of Any Consequence.

You Beat Your Pate, And Fancy Wit Will Come: Knock As You Please, There's No Body At Home.

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

Some Place The Bliss In Action, Some In Ease, Those Call It Pleasure, And Contentment These.

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?

Light Quirks Of Music, Broken And Uneven,make The Soul Dance Upon A Jig To Heav'n.

Authors Are Partial To Their Wit, 'tis True, But Are Not Critics To Their Judgment, Too?

Astrologers That Future Fates Foreshow.

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be, In Every Work Regard The Writer's End, Since None Can Compass More Than They Intend; And If The Means Be Just, The Conduct True, Applause, In Spite Of Trivial Faults, Is Due.

Hope Travels Through, Nor Quits Us When We Die.

Health Consists With Temperance Alone.

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

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

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.

Not To Go Back Is Somewhat To Advance, And Men Must Walk, At Least, Before They Dance.

Wine Lets No Lover Unrewarded Go.

Woman's At Best A Contradiction Still.

The Dances Ended, All The Fairy Train For Pinks And Daisies Search'd The Flow'ry Plain.

He Best Can Paint Them Who Shall Feel Them Most.

Ask For What End The Heavenly Bodies Shine, Earth For Whose Use? Pride Answers, 'tis For Mine For Me Kind Nature Wakes Her Genial Power, Suckles Each Herb, And Spreads Out Every Flower.

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.

True Disputants Are Like True Sportsmen: Their Whole Delight Is In The Pursuit.

Some Are Bewildered In The Maze Of Schools, And Some Made Coxcombs Nature Meant But Fools.

Some Judge Of Authors' Names, Not Works, And Then Nor Praise Nor Blame The Writings, But The Men.

Of Darkness Visible So Much Be Lent, As Half To Show, Half Veil, The Deep Intent.

Education Forms The Common Mind.

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