A Quote by Alexander Pope

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.
Drawn by conceit from reason's plan How vain is that poor creature man; How pleas'd in ev'ry paltry elf To grate about that thing himself.
A prison! heav'ns, I loath the hated name, Famine's metropolis, the sink of shame, A nauseous sepulchre, whose craving womb Hourly inters poor mortals in its tomb; By ev'ry plague and ev'ry ill possess'd, Ev'n purgatory itself to thee 's a jest.
"With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart.
Let Joy or Ease, let Affluence or Content, And the gay Conscience of a life well spent, Calm ev'ry thought, inspirit ev'ry grace, Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.
How fair doth Nature Appear again! How bright the sunbeams! How smiles the plain! The flow'rs are bursting From ev'ry bough, And thousand voices Each bush yields now. And joy and gladness Fill ev'ry breast! Oh earth!-oh sunlight! Oh rapture blest! Oh love! oh loved one!
But just disease to luxury succeeds, And ev'ry death its own avenger breeds.
Poets like painters, thus unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is Nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.
I write every day and I just love doing it. It's just... it's just a wonderful thing. Some of my stories work, some of them don't work. Some of them are wild and I love them, but they certainly don't fit into any kind of a normal system that I know about.
And reputation bleeds in ev'ry word.
A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age.
At ev'ry word a reputation dies.
Who wants to be a millionaire? And go to ev'ry swell affair?
I have different routines for different types of chaos. When I find myself swamped with work and surrounded by people, I try to carve out time to walk my dog alone so I can organize my thoughts.
Ev'ry heart beats true 'neath the Red, White and Blue
Don't ye know that ev'ry Soul on Earth feels itself to be an Orphan?
O who would trust this world, or prize what's in it, That gives and takes, and chops and changes, ev'ry minute?
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