Quotes By Robert Browning

How good is man's life, the mere living! How fit to employ all the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!

Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.

No, when the fight begins within himself, A man's worth something.

Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts.

Oh, to be in England now that April's there.

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

A minute's success pays the failure of years.

Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or squirrels in a chain, ambitious men still climb and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxiety, but never reach the top.

So, fall asleep love, loved by me... for I know love, I am loved by thee.

Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.

But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?

Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.

The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!

Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. Or what's a heaven for?

Faultless to a fault.

What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.

I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.

A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.

Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.

What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.

I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.

Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph?

I count life just a stuff to try the soul's strength on.

God is the perfect poet.