Robert Browning Quotes - Page 11

One may do whatever one likes. In art, the only thing is, to make sure that one does like it.

Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.

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

As if true pride Were not also humble!

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.

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.

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

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

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

Smiling the boy fell dead.

Once more on my adventure brave and new.

The trouble that most of us find with the modern matched sets of clubs is that they don't really seem to know any more about the game than the old ones did.

All service is the same with God.

Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.

Oh the wild joys of living! The leaping from rock to rock ... the cool silver shock of the plunge in a pool's living waters.

I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.

Shun death, is my advice.

That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one, His hundred's soon hit: This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. That, has the world here-should he need the next, Let the world mind him! This, throws himself on God, and unperplext Seeking shall find Him.

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

We find great things are made of little things, And little things go lessening till at last Comes God behind them.

It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad.

Twere too absurd to slight For the hereafter the todays delight!

It's like those eerie stories nurses tell, Of how some actor on a stage played Death, With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart, And called himself the monarch of the world; Then, going in the tire-room afterward, Because the play was done, to shift himself, Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly, The moment he had shut the closet door, By Death himself. Thus God might touch a Pope At unawares, ask what his baubles mean, And whose part he presumed to play just now. Best be yourself, imperial, plain and true!

And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.

They are perfect; how else?-they shall never change: We are faulty; why not?-we have time in store.