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I begin where most people end, with a full conviction of the emptiness of all sorts of ambition, and the unsatisfactory nature of all human pleasures.

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
Human
Emptiness
Humans
Conviction
People
Ambition
Begin
Full
Pleasure
Unsatisfactory
Nature
Sorts
Ends
Pleasures

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Ladies, like variegated tulips, show 'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe.
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Wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense!
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Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below?
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A good-natured man has the whole world to be happy out of.
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Fools admire, but men of sense approve.
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But touch me, and no minister so sore. Whoe'er offends, at some unlucky time Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme, Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, And the sad burthen of some merry song.
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Some praise at morning what they blame at night, but always think the last opinion right.
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Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
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All chance, direction, which thou canst not see
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A little learning is a dangerous thing Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
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Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains.
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To swear is neither brave, polite, nor wise.
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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.
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Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
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Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?
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Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
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They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.
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When to mischief mortals bend their will, how soon they find it instruments of ill.
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Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies, And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise.
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Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with Gods, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand - the name appears Already written - wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeyes.
Alexander Pope