Quotes from Robert Browning

Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos!'Thinketh, He dwelleth i' the cold o' the moon.

I count life just a stuff to try the soul's strength on.

When the fight begins within himself, a man's worth something.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,The heroes of old,Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrearsOf pain, darkness, and cold.

So, fall asleep love, loved by me... for I know love, I am loved by thee.

Open my heart, and you will seeGraved inside of it, "Italy."

Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles.

Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,And the sun looked over the mountain's rim:And straight was a path of gold for him,And the need of a world of men for me.

We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him,Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,Made him our pattern to live and to die!

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,Looking as if she were alive.

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

A secret's safe'Twixt you, me, and the gatepost!

'Tis not what man does which exalts him, but what man would do!

You never know what life means till you die:Even throughout life, 'tis death that makes life live,Gives it whatever the significance.

Such ever was love's way: to rise, it stoops.

It's a long lane that knows no turnings.

The Savior at his sermon on the mount,Saint Praxed in a glory, and one PanReady to twitch the Nymph's last garment off.

Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift,That I doubt his own love can compete with it?Here, the parts shift?

One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels,One more wrong to man, one more insult to God!

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,Burns, Shelley, were with us—they watch from their graves!

All poetry is difficult to read,—The sense of it is, anyhow.

The year's at the springAnd day's at the morn;Morning's at seven;The hillside's dew-pearled;The lark's on the wing;The snail's on the thorn:God's in his heaven—All's right with the world.

Have you found your life distasteful?My life did and does smack sweet.Was your youth of pleasure wasteful?Mine I saved and hold complete.Do your joys with age diminish?When mine fail me, I'll complain.Must in death your daylight finish?My sun sets to rise again.

In the morning of the world,When earth was nigher heaven than now.