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If we tried To sink the past beneath our feet, be sure The future would not stand.
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
Would
Beneath
Tried
Feet
Stand
Sure
Future
History
Past
Sink
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The large white owl that with eye is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow, Is carried away in a gust of wind.
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I heard an angel speak last night/And he said, Write!
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I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
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If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?
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We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.
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And there my little doves did sit With feathers softly brown And glittering eyes that showed their right To general Nature's deep delight.
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Too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun.
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What frightens me is that men are content with what is not life at all.
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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.
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Whatever's lost, it first was won.
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Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.
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For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
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We can't separate our humanity from our poetry.
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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.
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And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair And they heard the words it said,- Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
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The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental.
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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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Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is. For gift or grace, surpassing this-- He giveth His beloved sleep.
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Every wish Is like a prayer--with God.
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Men get opinions as boys learn to spell by reiteration chiefly.
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