Quote

Go in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue, summon all, For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.

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
Thee
Summon
Towards
Hast
Virtue
Thine
Part
Hath
Done
Innocence
Native
Rely
Thou

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Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
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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.
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In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity
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The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!
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That's the wise thrush he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
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There is no truer truth obtainable by Man than comes of music
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Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!
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Would you have your songs endure? Build on the human heart.
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Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.
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I do what many dream of, all their lives
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The great mind knows the power of gentleness.
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There are those who believe something, and therefore will tolerate nothing and on the other hand, those who tolerate everything, because they believe nothing.
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Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth
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I judge people by what they might be, - not are, nor will be.
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Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.
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Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.
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Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
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Wander at will, Day after day,-- Wander away, Wandering still-- Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber: Body shall cumber Soul-flight no more.
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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!
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