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All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.

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
Bravery
Several
Delight
Sun
Eyes
Eye
World
Delights

More quotes by 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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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.
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Gold begets in brethren hate Gold in families debate Gold does friendship separate Gold does civil wars create.
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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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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
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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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Books should, not Business, entertain the Light And Sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.
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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
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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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A mighty pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss But, of all pains, the greatest pain Is to love, but love in vain.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
Abraham Cowley
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Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
Abraham Cowley
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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.
Abraham Cowley
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Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning's gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill 'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
Abraham Cowley