Quote

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.

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
Masters
Gentle
Thoughts
Sounds
Though
Humble
Sound
Notes
Lyre
Tell
Master
Lowly
May
Harmony
Prevail
Different
Inspire
Exalted
Make
Silent
Awake

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The monster London laugh at me.
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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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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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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a little feast.
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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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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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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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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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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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Nothing in Nature's sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high-- Fill all the Glasses there for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
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Life is an incurable disease.
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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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Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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