Robert Browning Quotations | Page 3

All service is the same with God.

Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.

There is no truer truth obtainable by Man than comes of music

Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?

God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, One to show a woman when he loves her.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And I untightened the next tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss . . .

Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.

What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake.

I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.

Out of your whole life give but a moment! All of your life that has gone before, All to come after it, -so you ignore, So you make perfect the present, condense, In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment, Thought and feeling and soul and sense.

Tis Man's to explore up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason.

Still more labyrinthine buds the rose.

Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her

What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?

I know what I want and what I might gain, and yet, how profitless to know.

The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its best to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up and all the cottage warm;

Who knows most, doubts most.

Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world

Smiling the boy fell dead.

I think, am sure, a brother's love exceeds All the world's loves in its unworldliness.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.

Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.

Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side...

A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: See all, nor be afraid!

Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.

Who knows but the world may end tonight

Rats They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

In this world, who can do a thing, will not; And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — And thus we half-men struggle.

Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.

One and all We lend an ear-nay, Science takes thereto- Encourages the meanest who has racked Nature until he gains from her some fact, To state what truth is from his point of view, Mere pin-point though it be: since many such Conduce to make a whole, she bids our friend Come forward unabashed and haply lend His little life-experience to our much Of modern knowledge.

And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June!

In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to believe.

Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.

The peerless cup afloat Of the lake-lily is an urn some nymph Swims bearing high above her head.

Rejoice that man is hurled, From change to change unceasingly, His soul's wings never furled!

Make us happy and you make us good.

Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best.

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower.

Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.

Hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, And great hearts expand And grow one in the sense of this world's life.

Talent should minister to genius.

One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools'.

Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.

Things are where things are, and, as fate has willed, So shall they be fulfilled.

I know a mount, the gracious Sun perceives First when he visits, last, too, when he leaves The world; and, vainly favored, it repays The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze By no change of its large calm front of snow.

God smiles as He has always smiled; Ere suns and moons could wax and wane, Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled The Heavens, God thought on me His child; Ordained a life for me, arrayed Its circumstances, every one To the minutest; ay, God said This head this hand should rest upon Thus, ere He fashioned star or sun.

Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.

'Tis well averred, A scientific faith's absurd.

Lofty designs must close in like effects.

The past is gained, secure, and on record.

I write from a thorough conviction that it is the duty of me, and with the belief that, after every drawback and shortcoming, I do my best, all things considered--that is for me, and, so being, the not being listened to by one human creature would, I hope, in nowise affect me.

I have no little insight into the feelings of furniture, and treat books and prints with a reasonable consideration. How some people use their pictures, for instance, is a mystery to me; very revolting all the same--portraits obliged to face each other for ever--prints put together in portfolios.

I judge people by what they might be, - not are, nor will be.

Youth means love, Vows can't change nature, priests are only men.

When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?

But little do or can the best of us: That little is achieved through Liberty.

But God has a few of us to whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome; 'tis we musicians know.

The heavens and earth stay as they were; my heart Beats as it beat: the truth remains the truth.

Can we love but on condition that the thing we love must die?

When pain ends, gain ends too.

The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.

Sorrow, the heart must bear, Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there. Many a circumstance, at least, Touches the very breast. For those Whom any sent away,--he knows: And in the live man's stead, Armor and ashes reach The house of each.

Wander at will, Day after day,-- Wander away, Wandering still-- Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber: Body shall cumber Soul-flight no more.

No thought which ever stirred A human breast should be untold.

Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe, all were for me, in the kiss of one girl.

Death: the grand perhaps.

Silence 'tis awe decrees.

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth

The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!

Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.

A man in armour is his armour's slave.

As if true pride Were not also humble!

There is nothing so unpardonable as to consent to a senseless, aimless, purposeless life.

All poetry is putting the infinite within the finite.

Night conceals a world but reveals a universe.

Escape me? Never, beloved! While I am I, and you are you.

Ah, love, - you are my unutterable blessing.....I am in full sunshine now.

Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.

Thought is the soul of act.

Truth is truth howe'er it strike.

Mid the sharp, short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well, The wild tulip at the end of its tube, blows out its great red bell, Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell.

A pretty woman's worth some pains to see, Nor is she spoiled, I take it, if a crown Completes the forehead pale and tresses pure.

A man in armor is his armor's slave.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!

Man seeks his own good at the whole world's cost.

Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.

Imperfection means perfection hid.

The world and life's too big to pass for a dream

Praise is deeper than the lips

I do what many dream of, all their lives

At last awake from life, that insane dream we take for waking now.

Our aspirations are our responsibilities.

Earth is crammed with heavens.

In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher heaven than now.

If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.

Faultless to a fault.

For I say this is death and the sole death,- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.

Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!

O never star Was lost; here We all aspire to heaven and there is heaven Above us. If I stoop Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, It is but for a time; I press God's lamp Close to my breast; its splendor soon or late Will pierce the gloom. I shall emerge some day.

How good is life, the mere living!