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It is difficult to get rid of people when you once have given them too much pleasure.
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
Difficult
Given
Much
People
Hospitality
Pleasure
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
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O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin Of taking vainly in a plaintive mood, The holy name of Grief--holy herein, That, by the grief of One, came all our good.
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Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.
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Get work, get work Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.
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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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I cannot speak In happy tones the tear drops on my cheek Show I am sad But I can speak Of grace to suffer with submission meek, Until made glad.
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Free men freely work: Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.
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The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise, I barter for curl upon that mart.
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Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.
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Light tomorrow with today!
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Death forerunneth Love to win Sweetest eyes were ever seen.
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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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For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
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God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.
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Books succeed and lives fail.
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The plague of gold strikes far and near.
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A grave, on which to rest from singing?
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Many a fervid man writes books as cold and flat as graveyard stones.
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Nosegays! leave them for the waking, Throw them earthward where they grew Dim are such, beside the breaking Amaranths he looks unto. Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
