The best way to excape his ire Is, not to seem too happy. Robert Browning More Quotes by Robert Browning More Quotes From Robert Browning Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to. Robert Browning saying-goodbyelove-isgoodbye Thought is the soul of act. Robert Browning soul Our aspirations are our responsibilities. Robert Browning aspirationresponsibility At last awake from life, that insane dream we take for waking now. Robert Browning insanedreamlife I do what many dream of, all their lives Robert Browning dreamaction Praise is deeper than the lips Robert Browning lipsdeeperpraise For I say this is death and the sole death,- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest. Robert Browning ignoranceloveknowledge Silence 'tis awe decrees. Robert Browning decreeawesilence 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 Robert Browning autumnrunningmorning The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way! Robert Browning fiddledevilway Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks. Robert Browning generationsthreetree All we have gained then by our unbelief Is a life of doubt diversified by faith, For one of faith diversified by doubt: We called the chess-board white-we call it black. Robert Browning blackwhitelife God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency. Robert Browning trackgodjustice Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts. Robert Browning heightshademind Such ever was love's way: to rise, it stoops. Robert Browning stoopsloveway O world, as God has made it! All is beauty. Robert Browning madebeautyworld Death: the grand perhaps. Robert Browning The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow! Robert Browning faultstimemen Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? Robert Browning usedgoldhair Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware. Robert Browning aprilenglandmorning
