Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made. Robert Browning
Ambition
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for? Robert Browning
Animals
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! Robert Browning
Beauty
If you get simple beauty and nought else, You get about the best thing God invents. Robert Browning
Choice
White shall not neutralize the black, nor good Compensate bad in man, absolve him so: Life's business being just the terrible choice. Robert Browning
Death
Even throughout life, 'tis death that makes life live, Gives it whatever the significance. Robert Browning: The Ring and the Book
Discontent
Does he paint? he fain would write a poem,— Does he write?—he fain would paint a picture. Robert Browning
Doubt and Skepticism
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
England and the English
Oh, to be in England Now that April's there. Robert Browning
Flowers and Trees
Any nose May ravage with impunity a rose. Robert Browning: Sordello
God
God is seen God In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. Robert Browning
Ignorance and Stupidity
Ignorance is not innocence but sin.Robert Browning
Kissing
What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?Robert Browning
Leisure
When a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy. Robert Browning
Love
God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, One to show a woman when he loves her! Robert Browning
Progress
Progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beasts': God is, they are, Man partly is and wholly hopes to be. Robert Browning
Seasons
The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side'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! Robert Browning: Pippa Passes
