Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Poet
1806-03-06 – 1861-06-29
Elizabeth Barrett Browning was an English poet of the Victorian era best known for Sonnets from the Portuguese and Aurora Leigh. She was among the most prominent English-language poets of her time.
Quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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And I breathe large at home. I drop my cloak,Unclasp my girdle, loose the band that tiesMy hair...now could I but unloose my soul!We are sepulchred alive in this close world,And want more room.
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Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.
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In this abundant earth no doubtIs little room for things worn out:Disdain them, break them, throw them by!And if before the days grew roughWe once were lov'd, us'd -- well enough,I think, we've far'd, my heart and I.
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Good aims not always make good books.
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We get no good by being ungenerous, even to a book, and calculating profits...so much help by so much reading. it is rather when we gloriously forget ourselves, and plunge soul-forward, headlong, into a book's profound, impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth--'tis then we get the right good from the book.
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I am one who could have forgotten the plague, listening to Boccaccio's stories; and I am not ashamed of it.
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It is rather whenWe gloriously forget ourselves, and plungeSoul-forward, headlong, into a book's profound,Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth--'Tis then we get the right good from a book.
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Better farPursue a frivolous trade by serious means,Than a sublime art frivolously.
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My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.
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Our Euripides the human,With his droppings of warm tears,and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.
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My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!And yet they seem alive and quiveringAgainst my tremulous hands which loose the stringAnd let them drop down on my knee to-night.This said, -- he wished to have me in his sightOnce, as a friend: this fixed a day in springTo come and touch my hand ... a simple thing,Yet I wept for it! -- this, ... the paper's light ...Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailedAs if God's future thundered on my past.This said, I am thine -- and so its ink has paledWith lying at my heart that beat too fast.And this ... O Love, thy words have ill availedIf, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
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God's gifts put men's best dreams to shame.
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Books, books, books!I had found the secret of a garret roomPiled high with cases in my father's name;Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and outAmong the giant fossils of my past,Like some small nimble mouse between the ribsOf a mastodon, I nibbled here and thereAt this or that box, pulling through the gap,In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,The first book first. And how I felt it beatUnder my pillow, in the morning's dark,An hour before the sun would let me read!My books!
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Enough! we're tired, my heart and I.We sit beside the headstone thus,And wish that name were carved for us.The moss reprints more tenderlyThe hard types of the mason's knife,As Heaven's sweet life renews earth's lifeWith which we're tired, my heart and I ....In this abundant earth no doubtIs little room for things worn out:Disdain them, break them, throw them by!And if before the days grew roughWe once were loved, used, - well enough,I think, we've fared, my heart and I.
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No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.
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Earth's crammed with heaven...But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.
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Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.
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I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you
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I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for right.I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.
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