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May I a small house and large garden have And a few friends, And many books, both true.

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
Small
Books
Friends
House
True
May
Gardening
Book
Garden
Many
Large

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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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The monster London laugh at me.
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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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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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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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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, in fields d'or or d'argent but, if heraldry were guided by reason, a plough in a field arable would be the most noble and ancient arms.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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The world's a scene of changes.
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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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.
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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? 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.
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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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All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
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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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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?
Abraham Cowley
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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
Abraham Cowley
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Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
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s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
Abraham Cowley