May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
ABRAHAM COWLEYWhen Israel was from bondage led,Led by the Almighty’s handFrom out of foreign land,The great sea beheld and fled.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
-
-
“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
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
But what is woman? Only one of nature’s agreeable blunders.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Poets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose,
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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!
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Coy Nature, (which remain’d, though aged grown, A beauteous virgin still, enjoy’d by none, Nor seen unveil’d by anyone),
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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 COWLEY -
Nay, in death’s hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove’s.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning’s gentle wine!
ABRAHAM COWLEY