He lives most life whoever breathes most air.
An ignorance of means may minister to greatness, but an ignorance of aims make it impossible to be great at all.
If you desire faith, then you have faith enough.
Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes.
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and white.
A woman is always younger than a man at equal years.
For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase, 'Let no one be called happy till his death;' to which I would add, 'Let no one, till his death, be called unhappy.'
What is genius but the power of expressing a new individuality?
The beautiful seems right by force of beauty and the feeble wrong because of weakness.
He said true things, but called them by wrong names.
What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.
And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.
At painful times, when composition is impossible and reading is not enough, grammars and dictionaries are excellent for distraction.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.
World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.
Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who's sorry for a gnat or girl?
But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence than the strong man in his wrath!
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.
God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.
You may write twenty lines one day--or even three like Euripides in three days--and a hundred lines in one more day--and yet on the hundred, may have been expended as much good work, as on the twenty and the three.
Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots, accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer; Growing straight out of man's reach, on the hill. God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
Every wish Is like a prayer--with God.
O brave poets, keep back nothing; Nor mix falsehood with the whole! Look up Godward! speak the truth in Worthy song from earnest soul! Hold, in high poetic duty, Truest Truth the fairest Beauty.
There's nothing great Nor small, has said a poet of our day, Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve And not be thrown out by the matin's bell.
Yet half the beast is the great god Pan, To laugh, as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man. The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain-- For the reed that grows never more again As a reed with the reeds of the river.
And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
I wish I were the lily's leaf To fade upon that bosom warm, Content to wither, pale and brief, The trophy of thy paler form.
Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!
True knowledge comes only through suffering.
A great acacia, with its slender trunk
And overpoise of multitudinous leaves.
(In which a hundred fields might spill their dew
And intense verdure, yet find room enough)
Stood reconciling all the place with green.
Thank God for grace, Ye who weep only! If, as some have done, Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place And touch but tombs,--look up! Those tears will run Soon in long rivers down the lifted face, And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.
Many a fervid man writes books as cold and flat as graveyard stones.
Sleep on, Baby, on the floor, Tired of all the playing, Sleep with smile the sweeter for That you dropped away in! On your curls' full roundness stand Golden lights serenely-- One cheek, pushed out by the hand, Folds the dimple inly.
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow But thinking of a wreath, . . . I like such ivy; bold to leap a height 'Twas strong to climb! as good to grow on graves As twist about a thyrsus; pretty too (And that's not ill) when twisted round a comb.
Whatever's lost, it first was won.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
Utterance is the evidence of foregone study.
I, who had had my heart full for hours, took advantage of an early moment of solitude, to cry in it very bitterly. Suddenly a little hairy head thrust itself from behind my pillow into my face, rubbing its ears and nose against me in a responsive agitation, and drying the tears as they came.
Don't get me wrong-painting's all right. But now that we have photography, what's the point?
The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.
Get leave to work In this world,--'tis the best you get at all.
The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.
Free men freely work: Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
The great chasm between the thing I say, and the thing I would say, would be quite dispiriting to me, in spite even of such kindnesses as yours, if the desire did not master the despondency.
Elizabeth Barrett Browningwas one of the most prominent English poets of the Victorian era, popular in Britain and the United States during her lifetime...