Zitate von Alexander Pope
Ein bekanntes Zitat von Alexander Pope:
Gesegnet sei der, der nichts erwartet. Er wird nie enttäuscht werden.
Informationen über Alexander Pope
Schriftsteller, Übersetzer, Herausgeber, Dichter, "Pastorals", "Essay on Criticism", "The Rape of the Lock - Der Lockenraub", "The Dunciad", "Windsor Forest", (England, 1688 - 1744).
Alexander Pope · Geburtsdatum · Sterbedatum
Alexander Pope wäre heute 335 Jahre, 11 Monate, 27 Tage oder 122.718 Tage alt.
Geboren am 21.05.1688 in London
Gestorben am 30.05.1744 in Twickenham/London
Sternzeichen: ♊ Zwillinge
Unbekannt
Weitere 297 Zitate von Alexander Pope
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Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms; The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there?
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Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods.
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Proceed, great days! 'till learning fly the shore, 'Till birch shall blush with noble blood no more, 'Till Thames see Eton's sons for ever play, 'Till Westminster's whole year be holiday, 'Till Isis' elders reel, their pupils' sport, And Alma mater lie dissolved in port!
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Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires.
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Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage; And beads and pray'r-books are the toys of age: Pleased with this bauble still, as that before; Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er!
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Search then the Ruling Passion: There, alone, The wild are constant, and the cunning known; The fool consistent, and the false sincere.
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See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of casuistry heaped o'er her head! Philosophy, that leaned on Heav'n before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense!
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Shakespeare (whom you and ev'ryplay-house bill Style the divine, the matchless, what you will) For gain, not glory, winged his roving flight, And grew immortal in his own despite.
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She marked thee there, Stretched on the rack of a too easy chair, And heard thy everlasting yawn confess The pains and penalties of idleness.
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She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks, Old-fashioned halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks: She went from op'ra, park, assembly, play, To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a day; To pass her time 'twixt reading and Bohea, To muse, and spill her solitary tea, Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Court the slow clock, and dine exact at noon.
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Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued I said, Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead, The dog-star rages!
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Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane.
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Sir, I admit your gen'ral rule That every poet is a fool: But you yourself may serve to show it, That every fool is not a poet.
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Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, but looks thro' Nature, up to Nature's God.
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Some are bewildered in the maze of schools, And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.
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Some have at first for wits, then poets passed, Turned critics next, and proved plain fools at last.
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Some people are commended for a giddy kind of good humor, which is no more a virtue than drunkenness.
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Some praise at morning what they blame at night; But always think the last opinion right.
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Statesman, yet friend to Truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear; Who broke no promise, served no private end, Who gained no title, and who lost no friend.
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Still follow sense, of ev'ry art the soul, Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole.