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Why did I write? What sin to me unknown dipped me in ink, my parents , or my own?

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
Parents
Parent
Write
Writing
Dipped
Ink
Unknown
Sin

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Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.
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Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild In Wit a man Simplicity, a child.
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But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.
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Search then the ruling passion: This clue, once found, unravels all the rest.
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Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, their beauty withered, and their verdure lost!
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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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The pure and noble, the graceful and dignified, simplicity of language is nowhere in such perfection as in the Scriptures and Homer. The whole book of Job, with regard both to sublimity of thought and morality, exceeds, beyond all comparison, the most noble parts of Homer.
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Fame can never make us lie down contentedly on a deathbed.
Alexander Pope
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Unblemish'd let me live or die unknown Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!
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Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.
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Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray, With joyous musick wake the dawning day.
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Judges and senates have been bought for gold Esteem and love were never to be sold.
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Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood, and abounding with the cries of expiring victims or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there.
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Order is heaven's first law.
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Tis use alone that sanctifies expense And splendor borrow all her rays from sense.
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Religion blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires.
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The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
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Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.
Alexander Pope
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Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
Alexander Pope
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I have more zeal than wit.
Alexander Pope