Robert Browning

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Dent, 1904 - 404 ˹
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˹ 190 - The very God! think, Abib; dost thou think? So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too So, through the thunder comes a human voice Saying, "O heart I made, a heart beats here ! Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself. Thou hast no power nor may'st conceive of mine, But love I gave thee, with Myself to love, And thou must love me who have died for thee ! " The madman saith He said so: it is strange.
˹ 135 - I would rather consider Shelley's poetry as a sublime fragmentary essay towards a presentment of the correspondency of the universe to Deity, of the natural to the spiritual, and of the actual to the ideal...
˹ 110 - Because all I haply can and do, All that I am now, all I hope to be, Whence comes it save from fortune setting free Body and soul the purpose to pursue, God traced for both ;* If fetters, not a few, Of prejudice, convention, fall from me, These shall I bid men each in his degree Also God-guided bear, and gayly, too ? But little do or can the best of us : That little is achieved through Liberty.
˹ 169 - look you!" vents a brace of rhymes, And in there breaks the sudden rose herself, Over us, under, round us every side, Nay, in and out the tables and the chairs And musty volumes, Boehme's book and all, Buries us with a glory, young once more, Pouring heaven into this shut house of life.
˹ 283 - If, because of the immense fame of the following Tragedy, I wished to acquaint myself with it, and could only do so by the help of a translator, I should require him to be literal at every cost save that of absolute violence to our language.
˹ 280 - There is a great deal in the world that is delightful and beautiful; there is a great deal in it that is great and engrossing; but it will not last. All that is in the world, the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life, are but for a little while.
˹ 116 - I have never seen a human frame which seemed so nearly a transparent veil for a celestial and immortal spirit.
˹ 341 - Run, Pheidippides, one race more ! the meed is thy due! ' Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout ! " He flung down his shield, Ran like fire once more : and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through, Till in he broke :
˹ 11 - He, gifted like the objective poet with the fuller perception of nature and man, is impelled to embody the thing he perceives, not so much with reference to the many below as to the one above him, the supreme Intelligence which apprehends all things in their absolute truth, an ultimate view ever aspired to, if but partially attained, by the poet's own soul.
˹ 366 - Then life is - to wake not sleep, Rise and not rest, but press From earth's level where blindly creep Things perfected, more or less, To the heaven's height, far and steep. Where, amid what strifes and storms. May wait the adventurous quest, Power is Love - transports, transforms Who aspired from worst to best. Sought the soul's world, spurned the worms'.

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