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. – Alexander Pope
But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state? – Alexander Pope
Our rural ancestors, with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulged the day that housed their annual grain,
With feasts, and offrings, and a thankful strain. – Alexander Pope
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reservd to blame, or to commend,
A timrous foe, and a suspicious friend. – Alexander Pope