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

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It is very natural for a young friend and a young lover to think the persons they love have nothing to do but to please them.
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Alas! the small discredit of a bribe Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.
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There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, ''Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed.
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Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.
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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.
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There is a majesty in simplicity.
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For thee I dim these eye and stuff this head With all such reading as was never read.
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What is it to be wise? 'Tis but to know how little can be known, To see all others' faults, and feel our own.
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A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.
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For when success a lover's toil attends,Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends
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Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
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Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore full well they merit all they feel, and more: unaw by precepts, human or divine, like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join.
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Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor.
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All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.
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See! From the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings Short is his joy! He feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.
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Love the offender, yet detest the offense.
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Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when prest, Stays till we call, and then not often near.
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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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A perfect judge will read each word of wit with the same spirit that its author writ.
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Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend.
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