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

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The world's a scene of changes.
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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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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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Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, and yet so humble too as not to scorn the meanest country cottages.
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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!
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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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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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Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.
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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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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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Life is an incurable disease.
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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.
Abraham Cowley
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
Abraham Cowley
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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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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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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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