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In lord of the flies mankind can never be equal to or greater than god

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. Together let us beat this ample field, Try what the open, what the covert yield. Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise: Laugh where we must, be candid where we can; But vindicate the ways of God to man.

Say first, of God above or man below, What can we reason but from what we know? Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescrib'd, their present state. Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurled, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest.

  • And hence one master passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest;
  • Samuel Johnson , The Life of Pope 1781;
  • All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;
  • Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?
  • Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunella.

The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. Lo, the poor Indian!

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But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company. In pridein reas'ning pride, our error lies; All quit their spere, and rush into the skies!

  • To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all!
  • All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

Pride still is aiming at the blessed abodes, Men would be Angels, Angels would be Gods. Aspiring to be Gods if Angels fell, Aspiring to be Angels men rebel. Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise; My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.

Why has not man a microscopic eye? For this plain reason,—man is not a fly. Die of a rose in aromatic pain. The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line. Remembrance and reflection how allied!

What thin partitions sense from thought divide! All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul. Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees. As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns As the rapt seraph that adores and burns. To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all!

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. All nature is but art unknown to thee, All chance, direction which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good; And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind is man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the skeptic side, With too much weakness for the stoic's pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act or rest; In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast; In doubt his mind or body to prefer; Born but to die, and reasn'ing but to err; Alike in ignorance, his reason such, Whether he thinks too little or too much.

Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still by himself abused, or disabused; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled; The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

  • Samuel Johnson , The Life of Pope 1781;
  • Feels at each thread, and lives along the line;
  • All nature is but art unknown to thee, All chance, direction which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good; And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

A judge of all things, feeble worm of the earth, depositary of the truth, cloaca of uncertainty and error, the glory and the shame of the universe", Blaise PascalThoughts, chap. Trace science then, with modesty thy guide. Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot.

In lazy apathy let stoics boast Their virtue fix'd: On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale. And hence one master passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest. The young disease, that must subdue at length, Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength. Extremes in nature equal ends produce; In man they join to some mysterious use.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace. Ask where's the North? Virtuous and vicious every man must be,— Few in the extreme, but all in the degree. The learned is happy Nature to explore, The fool is happy that he knows no more; The rich is happy in the plenty giv'n, The poor contents him with the care of Heav'n. Hope travels thro', nor quits us when we die.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw: Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite: Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, And beads and prayer books are the toys of age!

Pleased with this bauble still, as that before; Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er. Line 45; comparable with: Is it not man that keeps and serves me? Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. In vain thy Reason finer webs shall draw, Entangle justice in her net of law, And right, too rigid, harden into wrong, Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong.

The enormous faith of many made for one. Force first made Conquest, and that conquest, Law. For forms of government let fools contest; Whate'er is best administered is best: For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight ; His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

In faith and hope the world will disagree, But all mankind 's concern is charity. Good, pleasure, ease, content! That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die. Order is Heaven's first law. Peace is all thy own. The soul's calm sunshine and the heartfelt joy.

Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honour lies. Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunella.

Lord Of The Flies Quotes

What can ennoble sots or slaves or cowards? A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod; An honest man's the noblest work of God. Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart. In parts superior what advantage lies? Tell for you can what is it to be wise? Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand. If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd, The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind!

Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name, See Cromwell, damn'd to everlasting fame! Know then this truth enough for man to know— Virtue alone is happiness below. Never elated when one man 's oppress'd; Never dejected while another 's bless'd. Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God. JohnLetter to Alexander Pope.

Later used by Thomas Jefferson in the language of the Declaration of Independenceasserting that a people may "assume among the powers of the earth the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them".

Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer From grave to gay, from lively to severe. Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, Pursue the triumph and partake the gale? Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend. That virtue only makes our bliss below, And all our knowledge is ourselves to know. About[ edit ] The Essay on Man was a work of great labour and long consideration, but certainly not the happiest of Pope's performances. The subject is perhaps not very proper for poetry, and the poet was not sufficiently master of his subject; metaphysical morality was to him a new study, he was proud of his acquisitions, and, supposing himself master of great secrets, was in haste to teach what he had not learned.

Samuel JohnsonThe Life of Pope 1781. Never were penury of knowledge and vulgarity of sentiment so happily disguised.