Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Alexander PopeRead
Why did I write? whose sin to me unknown_x000D_ _x000D_ Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own?_x000D_ _x000D_ As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,_x000D_ _x000D_ I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the origin and purpose of the author's writing, questioning whether it stems from personal experience or familial influence.
In this quote, Alexander Pope explores the complexities of creative expression, pondering whether his inclination to write is an innate talent or a product of his upbringing. He suggests that, as a child, he was already drawn to the rhythm of writing, indicating that creativity can often emerge from an inherent desire to express oneself, regardless of external influences or expectations.
Themes
WritingCreativityExpressionArtInfluence
In practice
Example use cases
A writer at a literary festival discussing the origins of their work.
More from Alexander Pope
All quotes →What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
Alexander PopeRead
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.
Alexander PopeRead
An honest man's the noblest work of God.
Alexander PopeRead
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight;_x000D_ _x000D_ Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight.
Alexander PopeRead
Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?
Alexander PopeRead
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Oh, the shark has pretty teeth, dear,_x000D_ _x000D_ And he shows them pearly white._x000D_ _x000D_ Just a jackknife has Macheath, dear,_x000D_ _x000D_ And he keeps them out of sight.
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I write because to write a new sentence, let alone a new poem, is to cross the threshold into both a larger existence and a profound mystery. A thought was not there, then it is. An image, a story, an idea about what it is to be human, did not exist, then it does. With every new poem, an emotion new to the heart, to the world, speaks itself into being.
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The work of a correct and regular writer is a garden accurately formed and diligently planted, varied with shades, and scented with flowers.
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The artist need not know very much, best of all let him work instinctively and paint as naturally as he breathes or walks.
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Great art is always a way of concentrating, reinventing what is called fact, what we know of our existence- a reconcentration… tearing away the veils, the attitudes people acquire of their time and earlier time. Really good artists tear down those veils
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