Elizabeth Barrett Browning Quotes - Page 3

If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.

Whatever's lost, it first was won.

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.'

Too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun.

The exchange of sympathy for gratitude is the most princely thing!

And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness; Round our restlessness, His rest.

If you desire faith, then you have faith enough.

Guess now who holds thee?'--'Death,' I said. But, there, The silver answer rang, . . . 'Not Death, but Love.

I begin to think that none are so bold as the timid, when they are fairly roused.

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee, finding words enough, And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough, Between our faces, to cast light on each? - I dropt it at thy feet. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirits so far off From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof In words, of love hid in me out of reach. Nay, let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief, - Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed, And rend the garment of my life, in brief, By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude, Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.

How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.

Since when was genius found respectable?

What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.

A woman cannot do the thing she ought, which means whatever perfect thing she can, in life, in art, in science, but she fears to let the perfect action take her part and rest there: she must prove what she can do before she does it, -- prate of woman's rights, of woman's mission, woman's function, till the men (who are prating, too, on their side) cry, A woman's function plainly is... to talk. Poor souls, they are very reasonably vexed!

Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

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?

And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain

Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.

God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. We sit beside the headstone thus, And wish that name were carved for us. The moss reprints more tenderly The hard types of the mason's knife, As Heaven's sweet life renews earth's life With which we're tired, my heart and I .... In this abundant earth no doubt Is little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by! And if before the days grew rough We once were loved, used, - well enough, I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

In your patience ye are strong.

The world's male chivalry has perished out, but women are knights-errant to the last; and, if Cervantes had been greater still, he had made his Don a Donna.

Nosegays! leave them for the waking, Throw them earthward where they grew Dim are such, beside the breaking Amaranths he looks unto. Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.

O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road Singing beside the hedge.