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

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Gold begets in brethren hate Gold in families debate Gold does friendship separate Gold does civil wars create.
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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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Thus would I double my life's fading spaceFor he that runs it well, runs twice his race.
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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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Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.
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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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Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
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s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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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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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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Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning's gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill 'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
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As for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.
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Life is an incurable disease.
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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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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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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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May I a small house and large garden have And a few friends, And many books, both true.
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Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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