Alexander Pope

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

Some are bewildered in the maze of schools, And some made coxcombs nature meant but fools.

Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescrib'd, their present state.

An atheist is but a mad, ridiculous derider of piety, but a hypocrite makes a sober jest of God and religion; he finds it easier to be upon his knees than to rise to a good action.

Fools admire, but men of sense approve.

When men grow virtuous in their old age, they only make a sacrifice to God of the devil's leavings.

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

Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

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.