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.
ABRAHAM COWLEYWho lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
This a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made themselves, under whatsoever form it be of government
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man’s left to epitomize!
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Nay, in death’s hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove’s.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a little feast.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Hope! fortune’s cheating lottery; when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
“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 -
His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
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 COWLEY -
To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.
ABRAHAM COWLEY