Hope! fortune’s cheating lottery; when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
ABRAHAM COWLEYNothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
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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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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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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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.
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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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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.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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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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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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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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Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!
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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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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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But what is woman? Only one of nature’s agreeable blunders.
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May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
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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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I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a little feast.
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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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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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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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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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Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
ABRAHAM COWLEY