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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
Lost
Contend
Aims
Chiefs
Prize
Aim
Cross
Crosses
Ambition

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Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach.
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Every man has just as much vanity as he wants understanding.
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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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With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?-She wants a heart.
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In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fixed, 'tis fixed as in a frost.
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Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words,-health, peace, and competence.
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No more was seen the human form divine.
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The season when to come, and when to go, to sing, or cease to sing, we never know.
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Wit is the lowest form of humor.
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To swear is neither brave, polite, nor wise.
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Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
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Order is Heaven's first law and this confessed, some are, and must be, greater than the rest, more rich, more wise but who infers from hence that such are happier, shocks all common sense. Condition, circumstance, is not the thing bliss is the same in subject or in king.
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A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.
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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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But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?
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See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbor to embrace.
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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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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
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Cavil you may, but never criticise.
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A little learning is a dangerous thing.
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