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How vast a memory has Love!

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
Vast
Memory
Memories
Love
Life

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies, And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise.
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The enormous faith of many made for one.
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A family is but too often a commonwealth of malignants.
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From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
Alexander Pope
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Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.
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Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain Here earth and water seem to strive again, Not chaos-like together crushed and bruised, But, as the world, harmoniously confused: Where order in variety we see, And where, though all things differ, all agree.
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Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, But are not critics to their judgment, too?
Alexander Pope
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O let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's sake.
Alexander Pope
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From the moment one sets up for an author, one must be treated as ceremoniously, that is as unfaithfully, as a king's favorite or a king.
Alexander Pope
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Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.
Alexander Pope
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What bosom beast not in his country's cause?
Alexander Pope
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Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.
Alexander Pope
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Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.
Alexander Pope
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I am his Highness' dog at Kew Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
Alexander Pope
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Hope humbly then with trembling pinions soar Wait the great teacher, Death, and God adore What future bliss He gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Alexander Pope
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Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
Alexander Pope
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Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, and fills up all the mighty void of sense.
Alexander Pope
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There still remains to mortify a wit The many-headed monster of the pit.
Alexander Pope
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See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!
Alexander Pope
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Fickle Fortune reigns, and, undiscerning, scatters crowns and chains.
Alexander Pope