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Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th' approaches of the last.

Abraham Cowley

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Abraham Cowley
Age: 49 †
Born: 1618
Born: January 1
Died: 1667
Died: July 28
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
the City
Past
Approach
Time
Present
Hours
Lasts
Last
Approaches
Enjoy
Thankful
Wish
Hour
Fear
Neither

More quotes by Abraham Cowley

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The monster London laugh at me.
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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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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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This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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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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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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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, 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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What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
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Nothing in Nature's sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high-- Fill all the Glasses there for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
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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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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
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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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The Sunflow'r, thinking 'twas for him foul shame To nap by daylight, strove t' excuse the blame It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head.
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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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Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
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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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The world's a scene of changes.
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