Abraham Cowley Quotes

Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning's gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill; 'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

And I myself a Catholic will be, So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below.

Life is an incurable disease.

For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.

I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that ... I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life to the culture of them and the study of nature.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.

A mighty pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss; But, of all pains, the greatest pain Is to love, but love in vain.

The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made themselves, under whatsoever form it be of government; the liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country.

Solitude can be used well by very few people. They who do must have a knowledge of the world to see the foolishness of it, and enough virtue to despise all the vanity.

I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, to-morrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them; I have lived today.

As for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal; whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.

Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.

The Sunflow'r, thinking 'twas for him foul shame To nap by daylight, strove t' excuse the blame; It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head.

Gold begets in brethren hate; Gold in families debate; Gold does friendship separate; Gold does civil wars create.

May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.

Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!

Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.

Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose, To th' active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn's string a touch more sore and grave. The motions strait, and round, and swift, and slow, And short and long, were mixt and woven so, Did in such artful Figures smoothly fall, As made this decent measur'd dance of all. And this is Musick.

This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.

Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th' approaches of the last.

Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.

s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.

Ah, yet, e'er I descend to th' grave, May I a small House and a large Garden have. And a few Friends, and many Books both true, Both wise, and both delightful too. And since Love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as Guardian angels are, Only belov'd and loving me.

Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.

There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.

"We may talk what we please," he cries in his enthusiasm for the oldest of the arts, "of lilies, and lions rampant, and spread eagles, in fields d'or or d'argent; but, if heraldry were guided by reason, a plough in a field arable would be the most noble and ancient arms."

What a brave privilege is it to be free from all contentions, from all envying or being envied, from receiving or paying all kinds of ceremonies!

Nothing in Nature's sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high-- Fill all the Glasses there; for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?

Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.

Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.

Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends.

But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.

Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?

The world's a scene of changes.

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.

The present is an eternal now.

It is a hard and nice subject for a man to speak of himself: it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader's ear to hear anything of praise from him.

Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.

The present is all the ready money Fate can give.

Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught Smiths (who before could only make The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man's left to epitomize!

Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.

Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.

All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.

The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.

To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city; to be a philosopher, from the world; or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is man's, into the world, as it is God's.

Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!

The monster London laugh at me.

Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.

I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a little feast.