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The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
Robert Browning
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Robert Browning
Age: 77 †
Born: 1812
Born: May 7
Died: 1889
Died: December 12
Dramaturgy
Playwright
Poet
Writer
London
England
Robert Barrett Browning
Browning
Instead
Dead
Lying
Truth
Damned
Stood
More quotes by Robert Browning
The past is gained, secure, and on record.
Robert Browning
Progress is The law of life: man is not Man as yet.
Robert Browning
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Robert Browning
Truth is truth howe'er it strike.
Robert Browning
Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
Robert Browning
The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!
Robert Browning
As is your sort of mind, So is your sort of search: You will find what you desire.
Robert Browning
how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet
Robert Browning
I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.
Robert Browning
The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
Robert Browning
What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.
Robert Browning
Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity These are its sign and note and character.
Robert Browning
Other heights in other lives, God willing.
Robert Browning
But there are times when patience proves at fault.
Robert Browning
In this world, who can do a thing, will not And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — And thus we half-men struggle.
Robert Browning
Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
Robert Browning
Ignorance is not innocence but sin.
Robert Browning
Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!
Robert Browning
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 unbeloving Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!
Robert Browning
Mid the sharp, short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well, The wild tulip at the end of its tube, blows out its great red bell, Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell.
Robert Browning
