Alexander Pope

Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.

What Reason weaves, by Passion is undone.

You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.

All looks yellow to the jaundiced eye. [and therefore the solution is to fix the jaundiced eye.]

Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.

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.

Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.

Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear.

To observations which ourselves we make, we grow more partial for th' observer's sake.

Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.

Know then this truth, enough for man to know virtue alone is happiness below.

Never was it given to mortal man - To lie so boldly as we women can.

On life's vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.

'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.

Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

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.

A God without dominion, providence, and final causes, is nothing else but fate and nature.

What some call health, if purchased by perpetual anxiety about diet, isn't much better than tedious disease.

Fools admire, but men of sense approve.