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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.

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
Business
Gods
Today
Treat
May
Treats
Sorrow
Stay
Banish
Least
Kindly
Wish
Morrow
Fear
Belong

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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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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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Gold begets in brethren hate Gold in families debate Gold does friendship separate Gold does civil wars create.
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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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The present is an eternal now.
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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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Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.
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Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
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I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, to-morrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them I have lived today.
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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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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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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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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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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
Abraham Cowley