Quote

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.

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
Kinds
Roaring
Dissembling
Dog
Beasts
Thieving
Kind
Wolf
Rapacious
Men
Foxes
Crocodile
Lion
Vulture
Lions
Crocodiles
Beast
Robbing
Decoy
Near
Treacherous
Fawning

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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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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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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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The monster London laugh at me.
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The present is an eternal now.
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Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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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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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
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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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Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
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Life is an incurable disease.
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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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The world's a scene of changes.
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Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
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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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