Quote

Some to conceit alone their taste confine, And glittering thoughts struck out at ev'ry line Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit.

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
Thoughts
Conceit
Lines
Struck
Alone
Wit
Nothing
Wild
Pleas
Work
Chaos
Glaring
Fit
Confine
Line
Glittering
Taste
Heap

More quotes by Alexander Pope

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Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
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Men, some to business, some to pleasure take But every woman is at heart a rake.
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As with narrow-necked bottles the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.
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See Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep, And all the western world believe and sleep.
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All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see All discord, harmony not understood All partial evil, universal good.
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Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
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Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood, Our greatest evil, or our greatest good.
Alexander Pope
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The search of our future being is but a needless, anxious, and haste to be knowing, sooner than we can, what, without all this solicitude, we shall know a little later.
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If it be the chief point of friendship to comply with a friends motions and inclinations, he possesses this in a eminent degree he lies down when I sit, and walks when I walk, which is more than many good friends can pretend to do.
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But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
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Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
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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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Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.
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Health consists with temperance alone.
Alexander Pope
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A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.
Alexander Pope
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True disputants are like true sportsmen: their whole delight is in the pursuit.
Alexander Pope
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Is there a parson much bemused in beer, a maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, a clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, who pens a stanza when he should engross?
Alexander Pope
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A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
Alexander Pope
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Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries all.
Alexander Pope
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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