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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

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
Rooms
Home
Without
Nothing
Whole
Larger
World
Native
Prison
Room

More quotes by Abraham Cowley

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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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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.
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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends not on number, but the choice of friends.
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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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To-day is ours what do we fear? To-day is ours we have it here. Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish, at least, with us to stay. Let's banish business, banish sorrow To the gods belong to-morrow.
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Books should, not Business, entertain the Light And Sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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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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All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
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I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that ... 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.
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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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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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Life is an incurable disease.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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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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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!
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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.
Abraham Cowley
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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
Abraham Cowley