Elizabeth Barrett Browning Quotes
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Deep violets, you liken to The kindest eyes that look on you, Without a thought disloyal.
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Life treads on life, and heart on heart; We press too close in church and mart To keep a dream or grave apart.
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Behold me! I am worthy Of thy loving, for I love thee!
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If you desire faith, then you have faith enough.
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My future will not copy my fair past, I wrote that once. And, thinking at my side my ministering life-angel justified the word by his appealing look upcast to the white throne of God.
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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.
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Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.
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Unless you can muse in a crowd all day On the absent face that fixed you; Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbehoving; Unless you can die when the dream is past Oh, never call it loving!
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The denial of contemporary genius is the rule rather than the exception. No one counts the eagles in the nest, till there is a rush of wings; and lo! they are flown.
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Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!
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Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers?
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I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to god's throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach
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Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.
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The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental.
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He's just, your cousin, ay, abhorrently, He'd wash his hands in blood, to keep them clean.
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New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
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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.
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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.
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Of writing many books there is no end.
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I would build a cloudy House For my thoughts to live in; When for earth too fancy-loose And too low for Heaven! Hush! I talk my dream aloud - I build it bright to see, - I build it on the moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee.
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What monster have we here? A great Deed at this hour of day? A great just deed - and not for pay? Absurd - or insincere?
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Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is. For gift or grace, surpassing this-- He giveth His beloved sleep.
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Get leave to work In this world,--'tis the best you get at all.
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Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy.
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For none can express thee, though all should approve thee. I love thee so, Dear, that I only can love thee.
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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.'
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Knowledge by suffering entereth, And life is perfected by death.
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I would confide to you perhaps my secret profession of faith - which is ... which is ... that let us say and do what we please and can ... there is a natural inferiority of mind in women - of the intellect ... not by any means, of the moral nature - and that the history of Art and of genius testifies to this fact openly.
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And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.
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The critics could never mortify me out of heart - because I love poetry for its own sake, - and, tho' with no stoicism and some ambition, care more for my poems than for my poetic reputation.
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