All this world’s noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
ABRAHAM COWLEYPoets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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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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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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But what is woman? Only one of nature’s agreeable blunders.
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Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th’ approaches of the last.
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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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Why to mute fish should’st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
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Let’s banish business, banish sorrow; To the gods belong to-morrow.
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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.
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Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
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Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Or what is worse, be left by it? Why dost thou load thyself when thou ‘rt to fly, Oh, man! ordain’d to die?
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The world’s a scene of changes.
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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.
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Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep’rate friends.
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Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose,
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To-day is ours; what do we fear? To-day is ours; we have it here. Let’s treat it kindly, that it may Wish, at least, with us to stay.
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Our yesterday’s to-morrow now is gone, And still a new to-morrow does come on. We by to-morrow draw out all our store, Till the exhausted well can yield no more.
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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.
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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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Gold begets in brethren hate; Gold in families debate; Gold does friendship separate; Gold does civil wars create.
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His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.
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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
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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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Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master’s humble taleIn sounds that may prevail;Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire
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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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