Quote

I want to know a butcher paints, A baker rhymes for his pursuit, Candlestick-maker much acquaints His soul with song, or, haply mute, Blows out his brains upon the flute.

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
Brain
Maker
Baker
Upon
Blows
Butcher
Song
Rhyme
Flutes
Soul
Makers
Bakers
Much
Brains
Rhymes
Pursuit
Butchers
Candlestick
Blow
Paints
Haply
Paint
Mute
Flute

More quotes by Robert Browning

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Desire joy and thank God for it. Renounce it, if need be, for other's sake. That's joy beyond joy.
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No, when the fight begins within himself, / A man's worth something.
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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.
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O woman-country! wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead.
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Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.
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Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity These are its sign and note and character.
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Say not a small event! Why small? Costs it more pain that this ye call A great event should come to pass From that? Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in or exceed!
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White shall not neutralize the black, nor good compensate bad in man, absolve him so life's business being just the terrible choice.
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Other heights in other lives, God willing.
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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.
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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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If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens.
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Days decrease, / And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
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But little do or can the best of us: That little is achieved through Liberty.
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What I aspired to be and was not, comforts me.
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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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The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!
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There's a new tribunal now higher than God's -The educated man's!
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