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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.
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
Rooms
Desolate
Christ
Cross
Crosses
Presence
Brings
Despair
None
Room
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.
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Sleep on, Baby, on the floor, Tired of all the playing, Sleep with smile the sweeter for That you dropped away in! On your curls' full roundness stand Golden lights serenely-- One cheek, pushed out by the hand, Folds the dimple inly.
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Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!
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Every wish Is like a prayer--with God.
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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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And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise, I barter for curl upon that mart.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless.
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A woman's pity sometimes makes her mad.
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Gaze up at the stars knowing that I see the same sky and wish the same sweet dreams.
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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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If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.
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The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.
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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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Of writing many books there is no end.
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Men get opinions as boys learn to spell by reiteration chiefly.
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truth outlives pain, as the soul does life.
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Who so loves believes the impossible.
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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