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Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.

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
Never
Occasions
Fortune
Behinds
Behind
Bald
Shall
Slip
Opportunity
Occasion
Past
Lets
Find
Slips

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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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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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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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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?
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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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A mighty pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss But, of all pains, the greatest pain Is to love, but love in vain.
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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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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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Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
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Life is an incurable disease.
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When Israel was from bondage led,Led by the Almighty's handFrom out of foreign land,The great sea beheld and fled.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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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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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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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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All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
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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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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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