Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
ABRAHAM COWLEYHis faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land yield incomparably more poetic variety than the voyages of Ulysses or Aeneas?
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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.
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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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Coy Nature, (which remain’d, though aged grown, A beauteous virgin still, enjoy’d by none, Nor seen unveil’d by anyone),
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Books should, not Business, entertain the Light; And Sleep, as undisturb’d as Death, the Night.
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Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning’s gentle wine!
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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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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
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The present is an eternal now.
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“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
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To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.
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Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
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Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
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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.
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But what is woman? Only one of nature’s agreeable blunders.
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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou who art under ground to lie? Thou sow’st and plantest, but no fruit must see, For death, alas! is reaping thee.
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When Harvey’s violent passion she did see, Began to tremble and to flee; Took sanctuary, like Daphne, in a tree
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There Daphne’s Lover stopped, and thought it much The very leaves of her to touch: But Harvey, our Apollo, stopp’d not so; Into the Bark and Root he after her did go!
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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man’s left to epitomize!
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Fill all the Glasses there; for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
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:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
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Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th’ approaches of the last.
ABRAHAM COWLEY