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Women know the way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, and stringing pretty words that make no sense. And kissing full sense into empty words.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Age: 55 †
Born: 1806
Born: March 6
Died: 1861
Died: June 30
Essayist
Pamphleteer
Poet
Screenwriter
Translator
Durham
England
Mrs. Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Barrett
Elizabeth Barrett-Browning
Elizaveta Barrett Brauning
Make
Full
Fitting
Simple
Tender
Words
Kissing
Stringing
Sense
Mom
Tying
Mother
Shoes
Mothering
Women
Empty
Rear
Children
Baby
Knack
Way
Pretty
Merry
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise, I barter for curl upon that mart.
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May the good God pardon all good men.
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I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless.
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For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
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And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
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In your patience ye are strong.
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The man, most man, Works best for men, and, if most men indeed, He gets his manhood plainest from his soul: While, obviously, this stringent soul itself Obeys our old rules of development The Spirit ever witnessing in ours, And Love, the soul of soul, within the soul, Evolving it sublimely.
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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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Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.
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The plague of gold strikes far and near.
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How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.
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But I love you, sir: And when a woman says she loves a man, The man must hear her, though he love her not.
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O brave poets, keep back nothing Nor mix falsehood with the whole! Look up Godward! speak the truth in Worthy song from earnest soul! Hold, in high poetic duty, Truest Truth the fairest Beauty.
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What is art but the life upon the larger scale, the higher. When, graduating up in a spiral line of still expanding and ascending gyres, it pushes toward the intense significance of all things, hungry for the infinite?
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As the moths around a taper, As the bees around a rose, As the gnats around a vapour, So the spirits group and close Round about a holy childhood, as if drinking its repose.
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And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.
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Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.
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A woman's always younger than a man at equal years.
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Who so loves believes the impossible.
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Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.
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