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• Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory?
  O death! where is thy sting? -- Alexander Pope (1688-1744) -- The Dying Christian to his Soul...
• Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer From grave to gay, from lively to severe.
  -- Alexander Pope (1688-1744) -- Essay on Man, Epistle iv, Line 379...
• SMILEY :d stick out your tongue
• 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....
• Odious! in woollen! 't would a saint provoke," Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke.
  -- Alexander Pope (1688-1744) -- Moral Essays, Epistle i, Line 246...
• Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
  -- Alexander Pope (1688-1744) -- Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, Prologue to the Satires, Line 213...
• She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or if she rules him, never shows she rules.
  -- Alexander Pope (1688-1744) -- Moral Essays, Epistle ii, Line 261...
• Destroy his fib or sophistry--in vain! The creature 's at his dirty work again.
  -- Alexander Pope (1688-1744) -- Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, Prologue to the Satires, Line 91...
• The young disease, that must subdue at length, Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.
  -- Alexander Pope (1688-1744) -- Essay on Man, Epistle ii, Line 135...