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O happiness! our being's end and aim! Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die.

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
Happiness
Gratitude
Sigh
Ends
Eternity
Cheer
Stills
Bears
Appreciation
Still
Eternal
Aim
Whate
Live
Name
Ease
Joyfulness
Something
Names
Content
Prompts
Good
Pleasure
Dare
Thankfulness
Dies
Bear
Cheerfulness

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
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Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield Learn from the beasts the physic of the field The arts of building from the bee receive Learn of the mole to plow, the worm to weave.
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To endeavor to work upon the vulgar with fine sense is like attempting to hew blocks with a razor.
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Condition, circumstance, is not the thing Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.
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The most positive men are the most credulous, since they most believe themselves, and advise most with their falsest flatterer and worst enemy--their own self-love.
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How do we know that we have a right to kill creatures that we are so little above, as dogs, for our curiosity or even for some use to us?
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Be silent always when you doubt your sense.
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On life's vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.
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An honest man's the noblest work of God.
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Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools and pageant of a day So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
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As the twig is bent, so grows the tree.
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The blest to-day is as completely so, As who began a thousand years ago.
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Genuine religion is not so much a matter of feeling as a matter of principle.
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A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.
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Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.
Alexander Pope
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Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise and rudely great... 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 to die, and reasoning but to err.
Alexander Pope
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While I live, no rich or noble knave shall walk the world in credit to his grave.
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Why did I write? whose sin to me unknown Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
Alexander Pope
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Alas! the small discredit of a bribe Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.
Alexander Pope