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Women use lovers as they do cards they play with them a while, and when they have got all they can by them, throw them away, call for new ones, and then perhaps lose by the new all they got by the old ones.

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
Women
Lovers
Play
Ones
Perhaps
Lose
Loses
Call
Use
Cards
Away
Throw

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And not a vanity is given in vain.
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For forms of faith let graceless zealots fight his can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
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To teach vain Wits that Science little known, T' admire Superior Sense, and doubt their own!
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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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Some old men, continually praise the time of their youth. In fact, you would almost think that there were no fools in their days, but unluckily they themselves are left as an example.
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Mankind is unamendable.
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What will a child learn sooner than a song?
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Oft in dreams invention we bestow to change a flounce or add a furbelow.
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But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain. The wond'ring forests soon should dance again The moving mountains hear the powerful call. And headlong streams hand listening in their fall!
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Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.
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Words are like Leaves and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
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The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
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Judge not of actions by their mere effect Dive to the center, and the cause detect. Great deeds from meanest springs may take their course, And smallest virtues from a mighty source.
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All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.
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Nor Fame I slight, nor her favors call.
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The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.
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Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.
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On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.
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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!
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Passions are the gales of life.
Alexander Pope