Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
A grave, on which to rest from singing?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
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
Grave
Graves
Singing
Rest
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Of writing many books there is no end.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A woman's pity sometimes makes her mad.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
O rose, who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet, But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat, Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell by reiteration chiefly.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Gaze up at the stars knowing that I see the same sky and wish the same sweet dreams.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
OF writing many books there is no end And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine,- Will write my story for my better self, As when you paint your portrait for a friend, Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you, just To hold together what he was and is.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
But since he had The genius to be loved, why let him have The justice to be honoured in his grave.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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 lov'd, us'd -- well enough, I think, we've far'd, my heart and I.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Unless you can muse in a crowd all day On the absent face that fixed you Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbehoving Unless you can die when the dream is past Oh, never call it loving!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Men of science, osteologists And surgeons, beat some poets, in respect For nature,-count nought common or unclean, Spend raptures upon perfect specimens Of indurated veins, distorted joints, Or beautiful new cases of curved spine While we, we are shocked at nature's falling off, We dare to shrink back from her warts and blains.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
