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Definition of Love: A score of zero in tennis. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life.
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
Tennis
Definitions
Breath
Breaths
Thee
Smiles
Tears
Zero
Love
Definition
Life
Score
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.
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If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.
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We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.
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There are nettles everywhere, but smooth, green grasses are more common still the blue of heaven is larger than the cloud.
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Get work, get work Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.
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Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.
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Nor myrtle--which means chiefly love: and love Is something awful which one dare not touch So early o' mornings.
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The plague of gold strikes far and near.
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Books are men of higher stature, and the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear.
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I, who thought to sink, was caught up into love, and taught the whole of life in a new rhythm.
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Never say No when the world says Aye.
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A woman's pity sometimes makes her mad.
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I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless.
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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.
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Where Christ brings His cross He brings His presence and where He is none are desolate, and there is no room for despair.
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Get leave to work In this world,--'tis the best you get at all.
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A child's kiss Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense Of service which thou renderest.
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Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
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There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!
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Free men freely work: Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
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