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Thus would I double my life's fading spaceFor he that runs it well, runs twice his race.

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
Thus
Race
Space
Running
Wells
Fading
Well
Double
Would
Runs
Life
Twice

More quotes by Abraham Cowley

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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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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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This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
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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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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
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Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught Smiths (who before could only make The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man's left to epitomize!
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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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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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
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Books should, not Business, entertain the Light And Sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.
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What a brave privilege is it to be free from all contentions, from all envying or being envied, from receiving or paying all kinds of ceremonies!
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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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Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
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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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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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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends not on number, but the choice of friends.
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Life is an incurable disease.
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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?
Abraham Cowley