Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill; ‘Tis fill’d wherever thou dost tread, Nature’s self’s thy Ganymede.
ABRAHAM COWLEYAll this world’s noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep’rate friends.
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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
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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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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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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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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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:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
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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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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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His time’s forever, everywhere his place.
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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, and yet so humble too as not to scorn the meanest country cottages.
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Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
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I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, to-morrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them; I have lived today.
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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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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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Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose,
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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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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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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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Gold begets in brethren hate; Gold in families debate; Gold does friendship separate; Gold does civil wars create.
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that
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Books should, not Business, entertain the Light; And Sleep, as undisturb’d as Death, the Night.
ABRAHAM COWLEY