There is some help for all the defects of fortune; for, if a man cannot attain to the length of his wishes, he may have his remedy by cutting of them shorter.
ABRAHAM COWLEYAcquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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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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Let’s banish business, banish sorrow; To the gods belong to-morrow.
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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!
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But what is woman? Only one of nature’s agreeable blunders.
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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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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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Poets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
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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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Thus would I double my life’s fading space;For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.
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I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that
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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.
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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.
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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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His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.
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Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill; ‘Tis fill’d wherever thou dost tread, Nature’s self’s thy Ganymede.
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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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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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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head.
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Nay, in death’s hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove’s.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.
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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made themselves, under whatsoever form it be of government
ABRAHAM COWLEY