Quote

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.

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
Much
Doctors
Every
Sight
Mountebank
Lies
Withal
Honor
Notoriety
Known
Comprehend
Lying
Pointed
Cannot
Whatsoever
Best
Doctor

More quotes by Abraham Cowley

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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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The world's a scene of changes.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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Our yesterday's to-morrow now is gone, And still a new to-morrow does come on. We by to-morrow draw out all our store, Till the exhausted well can yield no more.
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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
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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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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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This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
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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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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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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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Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
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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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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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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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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
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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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