Let’s banish business, banish sorrow; To the gods belong to-morrow.
ABRAHAM COWLEYThus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep’rate friends.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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When Israel was from bondage led,Led by the Almighty’s handFrom out of foreign land,The great sea beheld and fled.
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Man is too near all kinds of beasts,–a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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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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Poets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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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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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.
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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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Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise, He who defers this work from day to day, Does on a river’s bank expecting stay
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All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
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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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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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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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The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man’s left to epitomize!
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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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What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
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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.”
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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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His time’s forever, everywhere his place.
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:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
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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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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 getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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Nothing in Nature’s sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high
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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.
ABRAHAM COWLEY