Background Image

...

Some Men's Wit Is Like A Dark Lantern, Which Serves Their Own Turn And Guides Them Their Own Way, But Is Never Known (according To The Scripture Phrase) Either To Shine Forth Before Men, Or To Glorify Their Father In Heaven.

-Alexander Pope

...

Please Wait....
Translating....

Some Men's Wit Is

Alexander Pope

...

Some Men's Wit Is Like A Dark Lantern, Which Serves Their Own Turn And Guides Them Their Own Way, But Is Never Known (according To The Scripture Phrase) Either To Shine Forth Before Men, Or To Glorify Their Father In Heaven.

Views: 6

Topic

More From Alexander Pope

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.

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

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye.

Order Is Heaven's First Law; And This Confessed, Some Are, And Must Be, Greater Than The Rest, More Rich, More Wise; But Who Infers From Hence That Such Are Happier, Shocks All Common Sense. Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

Search Then The Ruling Passion; There Alone, The Wild Are Constant, And The Cunning Known; The Fool Consistent, And The False Sincere; Priests, Princes, Women, No Dissemblers Here.

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.

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

It Is Not So Much The Being Exempt From Faults, As Having Overcome Them, That Is An Advantage To Us.

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

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

The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.

Occupy Yourself

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

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

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

A Brain Of Feathers, And A Heart Of Lead.

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?

There Should Be, Methinks, As Little Merit In Loving A Woman For Her Beauty As In Loving A Man For His Prosperity; Both Being Equally Subject To Change.

Know Then Thyself, Presume Not God To Scan; The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.

Curse On All Laws But Those Which Love Has Made.

Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense. There Are Forty Men Of Wit For One Man Of Sense; And He That Will Carry Nothing About Him But Gold, Will Be Every Day At A Loss For Want Of Readier Change.

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.

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

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

What Reason Weaves, By Passion Is Undone.

Art Still Followed Where Rome's Eagles Flew.

What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song?

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

Those Move Easiest Who Have Learn'd To Dance.

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

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

Woman's At Best A Contradiction Still.

The Greatest Advantage I Know Of Being Thought A Wit By The World Is, That It Gives One The Greater Freedom Of Playing The Fool.

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

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

Statesman, Yet Friend To Truth! Of Soul Sincere, In Action Faithful, And In Honour Clear; Who Broke No Promise, Serv'd No Private End, Who Gain'd No Title, And Who Lost No Friend.

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

Most Authors Steal Their Works, Or Buy.

Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit, For Works May Have More With Than Does 'em Good, As Bodies Perish Through Excess Of Blood.

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

Rogues In Rags Are Kept In Countenance By Rogues In Ruffles.

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.

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

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

Our Proper Bliss Depends On What We Blame.

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.

Never Elated While One Man's Oppress'd; Never Dejected While Another's Blessed.

Men, Some To Business, Some To Pleasure Take; But Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

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

Time Management

No More Was Seen The Human Form Divine.

In Men, We Various Ruling Passions Find; In Women, Two Almost Divide The Kind Those, Only Fixed, They First Or Last Obey, The Love Of Pleasure, And The Love Of Sway.

Cursed Be The Verse, How Well So E'er It Flow, That Tends To Make One Worthy Man My Foe.

Those Oft Are Stratagems Which Errors Seem Nor Is It Homer Nods, But We That Dream.

Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To Love Too Well?

Self-love, The Spring Of Motion, Acts The Soul; Reason's Comparing Balance Rules The Whole. Man, But For That No Action Could Attend, And, But For This, Were Active To No End: Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate, And Rot; Or, Meteor-like, Flame Lawless Thro' The Void, Destroying Others, By Himself Destroy'd.

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.

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

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

First Follow Nature, And Your Judgment Frame By Her Just Standard, Which Is Still The Same: Unerring Nature, Still Divinely Bright, One Clear, Unchanged, And Universal Light, Life, Force, And Beauty Must To All Impart, At Once The Source, And End, And Test Of Art.

Who Ne'er Knew Joy But Friendship Might Divide,or Gave His Father Grief But When He Died.

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

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.

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

The Best Way To Prove The Clearness Of Our Mind, Is By Showing Its Faults; As When A Stream Discovers The Dirt At The Bottom, It Convinces Us Of The Transparency And Purity Of The Water.

For I, Who Hold Sage Homer's Rule The Best, Welcome The Coming, Speed The Going Guest.

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

Speed The Soft Intercourse From Soul To Soul, And Waft A Sigh From Indus To The Pole.

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

No Creature Smarts So Little As A Fool.

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

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

To Err Is Human; To Forgive, Divine.

Astrologers That Future Fates Foreshow.

You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

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

E'en Sunday Shines No Sabbath Day To Me.

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.

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

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

Thou Wert My Guide, Philosopher, And Friend.

Tis Strange The Miser Should His Cares Employto Gain Those Riches He Can Ne'er Enjoy;is It Less Strange The Prodigal Should Wastehis Wealth To Purchase What He Ne'er Can Taste?

Ambition First Sprung From Your Blest Abodes: The Glorious Fault Of Angels And Of Gods.

Mankind Is Unamendable.

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.

To Be Angry Is To Revenge The Faults Of Others On Ourselves.

Do Good By Stealth, And Blush To Find It Fame.

Such As Are Still Observing Upon Others Are Like Those Who Are Always Abroad At Other Men's Houses, Reforming Everything There While Their Own Runs To Ruin.

A Perfect Judge Will Read Each Work Of Wit With The Same Spirit That Its Author Writ: Survey The Whole, Nor Seek Slight Faults To Find Where Nature Moves, And Rapture Warms The Mind.

Who Taught That Heaven-directed Spire To Rise?

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

Oh! Blest With Temper, Whose Unclouded Ray Can Make To-morrow Cheerful As To-day.

Of All The Causes Which Conspire To Blind Man's Erring Judgement, And Misguide The Mind, What The Weak Head With Strongest Bias Rules, Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

The Way Of The Creative Works Through Change And Transformation, So That Each Thing Receives Its True Nature And Destiny And Comes Into Permanent Accord With The Great Harmony: This Is What Furthers And What Perseveres.

The Lot Of Man - To Suffer And To Die.

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

A Perfect Woman's But A Softer Man.

Fame, Wealth, And Honour! What Are You To Love?

There Are Certain Times When Most People Are In A Disposition Of Being Informed, And 'tis Incredible What A Vast Good A Little Truth Might Do, Spoken In Such Seasons.

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

All Seems Infected That Th' Infected Spy, As All Looks Yellow To The Jaundiced Eye.

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.

Good Sense, Which Only Is The Gift Of Heaven, And Though No Science, Fairly Worth The Seven.

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

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.

Wine Lets No Lover Unrewarded Go.

But Blind To Former As To Future Fate, What Mortal Knows His Pre-existent State?

There Is Nothing Wanting To Make All Rational And Disinterested People In The World Of One Religion, But That They Should Talk Together Every Day.

Envy, To Which Th' Ignoble Mind's A Slave, Is Emulation In The Learn'd Or Brave.

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

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.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows, And The Smooth Stream In Smoother Numbers Flows; But When Loud Surges Lash The Sounding Shore, The Hoarse Rough Verse Should Like The Torrent Roar. When Ajax Strives Some Rock's Vast Weight To Throw, The Line Too Labours, And The Words Move Slow: Not So When Swift Camilla Scours The Plain, Flies O'er Th' Unbending Corn, And Skims Along The Main.

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

Sickness Is A Sort Of Early Old Age; It Teaches Us A Diffidence In Our Earthly State.

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

Dear Fatal Name! Rest Ever Unreveal'd, Nor Pass These Lips In Holy Silence Seal'd. Hide It, My Heart, Within That Close Disguise, Where Mixed With Gods, His Lov'd Idea Lies: O Write It Not, My Hand - The Name Appears Already Written - Wash It Out, My Tears! In Vain Lost Eloisa Weeps And Prays, Her Heart Still Dictates, And Her Hand Obeyes.

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.

Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Saying Good Bye

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

Reason, However Able, Cool At Best, Cares Not For Service, Or But Serves When Prest, Stays Till We Call, And Then Not Often Near.

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

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

A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn.

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

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

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

How Happy Is The Blameless Vestal's Lot? The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot.

So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

So Modern 'pothecaries, Taught The Art By Doctor's Bills To Play The Doctor's Part, Bold In The Practice Of Mistaken Rules, Prescribe, Apply, And Call Their Masters Fools.

New, Distant Scenes Of Endless Science Rise: So Pleas'd At First, The Towring Alps We Try.

He Best Can Paint Them Who Shall Feel Them Most.

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

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.

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

Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

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.

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

What Then Remains, But Well Our Power To Use, And Keep Good-humor Still Whate'er We Lose? And Trust Me, Dear, Good-humor Can Prevail, When Airs, And Flights, And Screams, And Scolding Fail.

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.

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

Absent Or Dead, Still Let A Friend Be Dear.

So Upright Quakers Please Both Man And God.

Act Well Your Part, There All The Honour Lies.

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

Avoid Extremes; And Shun The Fault Of Such Who Still Are Pleas'd Too Little Or Too Much.

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.

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

And Write About It, Goddess, And About It!

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

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

Man, Like The Generous Vine, Supported Lives; The Strength He Gains Is From The Embrace He Gives.

Behold The Child, By Nature's Kindly Law, Pleased With A Rattle, Tickled With A Straw; Some Livelier Plaything Gives His Youth Delight, A Little Louder, But As Empty Quite; Scarfs, Garters, Gold, Amuse His Riper Stage, And Beads And Prayer-books Are The Toys Of Age. Pleased With This Bauble Still, As That Before, Till Tired He Sleeps, And Life's Poor Play Is O'er.

A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

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

Here Thou, Great Anna! Whom Three Realms Obey, / Dost Sometimes Counsel Take—and Sometimes Tea.

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

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

What Woeful Stuff This Madrigal Would Be, In Some Starved Hackney Sonneteer, Or Me! But Let A Lord Once Own The Happy Lines, How The Wit Brightens! How The Style Refines!

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

At Ev'ry Word A Reputation Dies.

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

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

Passions Are The Gales Of Life.

Still When The Lust Of Tyrant Power Succeeds, Some Athens Perishes, Or Some Tully Bleeds.

And More Than Echoes Talk Along The Walls.

Intestine War No More Our Passions Wage, And Giddy Factions Bear Away Their Rage.

This Long Disease, My Life.

Reason's Whole Pleasure, All The Joys Of Sense, Lie In Three Words,-health, Peace, And Competence.

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

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

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

When Two People Compliment Each Other With The Choice Of Anything, Each Of Them Generally Gets That Which He Likes Least.

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.

In Adamantine Chains Shall Death Be Bound, And Hell's Grim Tyrant Feel Th' Eternal Wound.

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

Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.

Love, Free As Air, At Sight Of Human Ties, Spreads His Light Wings, And In A Moment Flies.

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.

The Blest To-day Is As Completely So, As Who Began A Thousand Years Ago.

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.

He Who Tells A Lie Is Not Sensible Of How Great A Task He Undertakes; For He Must Be Forced To Invent Twenty More To Maintain That One.

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

Gentle Dullness Ever Loves A Joke.

Fickle Fortune Reigns, And, Undiscerning, Scatters Crowns And Chains.

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

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.

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye That Habitually Compares Everything To Something Better. But By Changing That Habit To Comparing Everything To Something Worse, Even Making It A Game, That Person Can Find Gratitude, Relief And Happiness Where-ever They Go And Whatever They Experience, Guaranteed!

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

Nor Fame I Slight, Nor Her Favors Call.

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

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

Not Grace, Or Zeal, Love Only Was My Call, And If I Lose Thy Love, I Lose My All.

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

Who Combats Bravely Is Not Therefore Brave, He Dreads A Death-bed Like The Meanest Slave: Who Reasons Wisely Is Not Therefore Wise,- His Pride In Reasoning, Not In Acting Lies.

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.

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

Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

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

In The Nice Bee, What Sense So Subtly True From Pois'nous Herbs Extracts The Healing Dew?

Trending Author

Alberto Giacometti

Category