An Essay On Criticism Quotes
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An Essay On Criticism Quotes
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“To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
― An Essay On Criticism
― An Essay On Criticism
“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”
― An Essay On Criticism
― An Essay On Criticism
“Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound,
Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Our judgments, like our watches, none
go just alike, yet each believes his own”
― An Essay On Criticism
go just alike, yet each believes his own”
― An Essay On Criticism
“True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.”
― An Essay On Criticism
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.”
― An Essay On Criticism
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;
Something whose truth convinced at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
As shades more sweetly recommend the light,
So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.”
― An Essay On Criticism
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;
Something whose truth convinced at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
As shades more sweetly recommend the light,
So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Music resembles poetry, in each
Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master hand alone can reach.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master hand alone can reach.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be,
In every work regard the writer's end,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be,
In every work regard the writer's end,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not critics to their judgment, too?”
― An Essay On Criticism
But are not critics to their judgment, too?”
― An Essay On Criticism
“In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold;
Alike fantastic, if too new, or old:
Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Alike fantastic, if too new, or old:
Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Averse alike to flatter, or offend;
Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.”
― An Essay On Criticism
― An Essay On Criticism
“Then most our trouble still when most admired,
And still the more we give, the more required;
Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease,
Sure some to vex, but never all to please.”
― An Essay On Criticism
And still the more we give, the more required;
Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease,
Sure some to vex, but never all to please.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
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.
Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!
While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow:
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood subdu'd by sound!
The pow'r of music all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.”
― An Essay On Criticism
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
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.
Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!
While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow:
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood subdu'd by sound!
The pow'r of music all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
Th'eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last:
But those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th'increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!”
― An Essay On Criticism
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
Th'eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last:
But those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th'increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound,
Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
False Eloquence, like the Prismatic Glass,
Its gawdy Colours spreads on ev’ry place;
The Face of Nature was no more Survey,
All glares alike, without Distinction gay:
But true Expression, like th’ unchanging Sun,
Clears, and improves whate’er it shines upon,
It gilds all Objects, but it alters none.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
False Eloquence, like the Prismatic Glass,
Its gawdy Colours spreads on ev’ry place;
The Face of Nature was no more Survey,
All glares alike, without Distinction gay:
But true Expression, like th’ unchanging Sun,
Clears, and improves whate’er it shines upon,
It gilds all Objects, but it alters none.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“As some to church repair, not for the doctrine, but the music there.”
― An Essay On Criticism
― An Essay On Criticism
“Some valuing those of their own side or mind,
Still make themselves the measure of mankind;
Fondly we think we honour merit then,
When we but praise ourselves in other men.”
― An Essay On Criticism
Still make themselves the measure of mankind;
Fondly we think we honour merit then,
When we but praise ourselves in other men.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Errare è umano, perdonare divino.”
― An Essay On Criticism
― An Essay On Criticism
“Be thou the first true merit to befriend;
His praise is lost, who stays till all commend.
Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes,
And 'tis but just to let 'em live betimes.
No longer now that golden age appears,
When patriarch wits surviv'd a thousand years:
Now length of Fame (our second life) is lost,
And bare threescore is all ev'n that can boast;
Our sons their fathers' failing language see,
And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be.”
― An Essay On Criticism
His praise is lost, who stays till all commend.
Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes,
And 'tis but just to let 'em live betimes.
No longer now that golden age appears,
When patriarch wits surviv'd a thousand years:
Now length of Fame (our second life) is lost,
And bare threescore is all ev'n that can boast;
Our sons their fathers' failing language see,
And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Nature to all things fixed the limits fit
And wisely curbed proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the ocean gains.
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains
Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid power of understanding fails
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away
One science only will one genius fit,
So vast is art, so narrow human wit
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in those confined to single parts
Like kings, we lose the conquests gained before,
By vain ambition still to make them more
Each might his several province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.”
― An Essay On Criticism
And wisely curbed proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the ocean gains.
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains
Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid power of understanding fails
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away
One science only will one genius fit,
So vast is art, so narrow human wit
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in those confined to single parts
Like kings, we lose the conquests gained before,
By vain ambition still to make them more
Each might his several province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“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;
.... In wit, as nature, what effects our hearts
Is not th'exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.”
― An Essay On Criticism
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;
.... In wit, as nature, what effects our hearts
Is not th'exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of sense!
If once right reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day;
Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.”
― An Essay On Criticism
And fills up all the mighty void of sense!
If once right reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day;
Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.”
― An Essay On Criticism
But the joint force and full result of all.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Be silent always when you doubt your sense;
And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence:
Some positive, persisting fops we know,
Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so;
But you, with pleasure own your errors past,
And make each day a critic on the last.”
― An Essay On Criticism
And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence:
Some positive, persisting fops we know,
Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so;
But you, with pleasure own your errors past,
And make each day a critic on the last.”
― An Essay On Criticism
“Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move,
For fools admire, but men of sense approve;”
― An Essay On Criticism
For fools admire, but men of sense approve;”
― An Essay On Criticism
“All fools have still an itching to deride”
― An Essay On Criticism
― An Essay On Criticism