Poets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
ABRAHAM COWLEYPoets by Death are conquer’d but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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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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May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
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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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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep’rate friends.
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I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life to the culture of them and the study of nature.
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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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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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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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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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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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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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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
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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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What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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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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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
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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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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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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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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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Life is an incurable disease.
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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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Fill all the Glasses there; for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
ABRAHAM COWLEY