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But see how oft ambition's aims are cross'd, and chiefs contend 'til all the prize is lost!

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
Contend
Lost
Aims
Chiefs
Prize
Aim
Cross
Crosses
Ambition

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Tis strange the miser should his cares employTo gain those riches he can ne'er enjoyIs it less strange the prodigal should wasteHis wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
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What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy, Is virtue's prize.
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Wit in conversation is only a readiness of thought and a facility of expression, or a quick conception and an easy delivery.
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The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole Can never be a mouse of any soul.
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Presumptuous Man! the reason wouldst thou find,Why form'd so weak, so little, and so blind?First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less!Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are madeTaller or stronger than the weeds they shade?Or ask of yonder argent fields above,Why Jove's Satellites are less than Jove?
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A good-natured man has the whole world to be happy out of.
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In this commonplace world every one is said to be romantic who either admires a fine thing or does one.
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I as little fear that God will damn a man that has charity, as I hope that the priests can save one who has not.
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Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
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Be thou the first true merit to befriend, his praise is lost who stays till all commend.
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All nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace.
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I am his Highness' dog at Kew Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
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And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.
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Is it, in Heav'n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
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Is not absence death to those who love?
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The same ambition can destroy or save, and make a patriot as it makes a knave.
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A perfect Judge will read each work of Wit With the same spirit that its author writ: Survey the Whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind.
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But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure and a small estate.
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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.
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There are certain times when most people are in a disposition of being informed, and 'tis incredible what a vast good a little truth might do, spoken in such seasons.
Alexander Pope