Elizabeth Barrett Browning Quotes

The beautiful seems right
By force of Beauty, and the feeble wrong
Because of weakness.

And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair;
And they heard the words it said,—
"Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!"

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

The wisest word man reaches is the humblest he can speak.

...But the child's sob in silence curses deeper / Than the strong man in his wrath.

You have touched me more profoundly than I thought even you could have touched me - my heart was full when you came here today. Henceforward I am yours for everything.

My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.

Thou comest! all is said without a word.

If thou must love me, let it be for naught
Except for love's sake only. Do not say,
'I love her for her smile — her look — her way
Of speaking gently, — for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day' — For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee — and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

If Thou Must Love Me

God's gifts put men's best dreams to shame.

Since when was genius found respectable?

True knowledge comes only through suffering

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me?

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say "I love her for her smile —her look —her way Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day" - For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,— A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.

Of writing many books there is no end; And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine,—
Will write my story for my better self,
As when you paint your portrait for a friend,
Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it
Long after he has ceased to love you, just
To hold together what he was and is.