To what base Ends, and by what abject Ways,
Are Mortals urg'd thro' Sacred Lust of praise!
(An Essay On Criticism)
More Quotes from Alexander Pope:
Why did I write what sin to me unknown; Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own.Alexander Pope
Some daemon stole my pen (forgive th' offence)And once betrayed me into common sense. Else all my prose and verse were much the same.
Alexander Pope
Who shall decide when doctors disagree.
Alexander Pope
But thousands die without or this or that, Die, and endow a college, or a cat; To some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate, T'enrich a bastard, or a son they hate.
Alexander Pope
Ignobly vain, and impotently great.
Alexander Pope
The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not Wife, To help me through this long disease, my life.
Alexander Pope
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