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True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.

Alexander Pope

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Alexander Pope
Age: 56 †
Born: 1688
Born: May 21
Died: 1744
Died: May 30
Literary Historian
Poet
Translator
the City
Pope the Poet
Alexander I Pope
Alexander
I Pope
Writing
Dance
Move
Learned
Chance
Moving
Comes
Art
Easiest
True
Ease

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Nature and nature's laws lay hid in the night. God said, Let Newton be! and all was light!
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On wrongs swift vengeance waits.
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Is not absence death to those who love?
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Death, only death, can break the lasting chain And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain
Alexander Pope
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Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust.
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What some call health, if purchased by perpetual anxiety about diet, isn't much better than tedious disease.
Alexander Pope
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Coffee which makes the politician wise, and see through all things with his half-shut eyes.
Alexander Pope
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Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow The rest is all but leather and prunello.
Alexander Pope
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To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.
Alexander Pope
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Condition, circumstance, is not the thing Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
Alexander Pope
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All nature is but art unknown to thee.
Alexander Pope
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The greatest magnifying glasses in the world are a man's own eyes when they look upon his own person.
Alexander Pope
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A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
Alexander Pope
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You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.
Alexander Pope
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If I am right, Thy grace impart Still in the right to stay If I am wrong, O, teach my heart To find that better way!
Alexander Pope
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Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.
Alexander Pope
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How loved, how honored once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot A heap of dust alone remains of thee 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Alexander Pope
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Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
Alexander Pope
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What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
Alexander Pope
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Oft in dreams invention we bestow to change a flounce or add a furbelow.
Alexander Pope