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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.

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
Littles
Confess
Little
Estate
Things
Estates
Love
Convenient
Cheerful
Almost
Company
Littleness
House
Feast

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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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Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
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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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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
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Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
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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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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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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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Ah, yet, e'er I descend to th' grave, May I a small House and a large Garden have. And a few Friends, and many Books both true, Both wise, and both delightful too. And since Love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as Guardian angels are, Only belov'd and loving me.
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Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends.
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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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The monster London laugh at me.
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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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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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