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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.

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
Life
Wretched
Solitary
Loves
Company

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Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th' approaches of the last.
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His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong his life, I'm sure, was in the right.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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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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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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Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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Life is an incurable disease.
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Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
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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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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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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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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends not on number, but the choice of friends.
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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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What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
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Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master's humble taleIn sounds that may prevailSounds that gentle thoughts inspire:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
Abraham Cowley
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s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
Abraham Cowley