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Life is an incurable disease.
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
Success
Life
Incurable
Disease
Existence
More quotes by Abraham Cowley
The present is an eternal now.
Abraham Cowley
There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
Abraham Cowley
Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
Abraham Cowley
Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
Abraham Cowley
Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.
Abraham Cowley
Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
Abraham Cowley
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.
Abraham Cowley
His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong his life, I'm sure, was in the right.
Abraham Cowley
Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
Abraham Cowley
All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
Abraham Cowley
The world's a scene of changes.
Abraham Cowley
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.
Abraham Cowley
When Israel was from bondage led,Led by the Almighty's handFrom out of foreign land,The great sea beheld and fled.
Abraham Cowley
Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th' approaches of the last.
Abraham Cowley
Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
Abraham Cowley
But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
Abraham Cowley
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? 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.
Abraham Cowley
It is a hard and nice subject for a man to speak of himself: it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader's ear to hear anything of praise from him.
Abraham Cowley
This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
Abraham Cowley
Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
Abraham Cowley