Quote

Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.

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
Rose
Cheerfully
Smile
Rosy
Wine
Awhile
Around
Roses
Like
Bowl
Bowls
Temples
Fill
Twine

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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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His time's forever, everywhere his place.
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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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Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise, He who defers this work from day to day, Does on a river's bank expecting stay, Till the whole stream, which stopped him, should be gone, That runs, and as it runs, for ever will run on.
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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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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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Thus would I double my life's fading spaceFor he that runs it well, runs twice his race.
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Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master's humble taleIn sounds that may prevailSounds that gentle thoughts inspire:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends not on number, but the choice of friends.
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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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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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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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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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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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Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
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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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All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
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