How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach
You're something between a dream and a miracle.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
Earth's crammed with heaven... But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.
No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.
I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you
Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God, But only he who sees takes off his shoes; The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.
You were made perfectly to be loved and surely I have loved you in the idea of you my whole life long.
Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.
Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.
Who so loves believes the impossible.
Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.
My sun sets to rise again.
The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.
God's gifts put men's best dreams to shame.
Light tomorrow with today.
With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right the music of my nature.
All actual heroes are essential men, And all men possible heroes.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
Parting is all we know of heaven And all we need of hell
What we call Life is a condition of the soul. And the soul must improve in happiness and wisdom, except by its own fault. These tears in our eyes, these faintings of the flesh, will not hinder such improvement.
And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.
What I do, and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.
My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.
And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain
Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?
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.
Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!
Yes, I answered you last night; No, this morning, sir, I say: Colors seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day.
Beloved, let us live so well our work shall still be better for our love, and still our love be sweeter for our work.
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She lived, we'll say, A harmless life, she called a virtuous life, A quiet life, which was not life at all (But that she had not lived enough to know)
The world of books is still the world.
If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.
Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God.
Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: "I'm with you kid. Let's go.
I am one who could have forgotten the plague, listening to Boccaccio's stories; and I am not ashamed of it.
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 use
...But the child's sob in silence curses deeper / Than the strong man in his wrath.
Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.
The widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine With pulses that beat double. What I do And what I dream include thee, as the wine Must taste of its own grapes.
The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of they soul Move still, oh, still, beside me...
God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
At painful times, when composition is impossible and reading is not enough, grammars and dictionaries are excellent for distraction.
I begin to think that none are so bold as the timid, when they are fairly roused.
I think of thee!-my thoughts do twine and bud About thee, as wild vines, about a tree... Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood I will not have my thoughts instead of thee Who art dearer, better!
And I breathe large at home. I drop my cloak, Unclasp my girdle, loose the band that ties My hair...now could I but unloose my soul! We are sepulchred alive in this close world, And want more room.
But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.
Thou comest! all is said without a word.
I shall but love thee bitter after death
And trade is art, and art's philosophy, In Paris.
The wisest word man reaches is the humblest he can speak.
Love doesn't make the world go round, Love is what makes the ride worthwhile!
True knowledge comes only through suffering
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.
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
A harmless life, she called a virtuous life, A quiet life, which was not life at all . . .
Say over again, and yet once over again, That thou dost love me...-toll The silver iterance!
I take her as God made her, and as men Must fail to unmake her, for my honoured wife.
Is by thee only, whom I love alone. ){kind=small}
The soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak, And placed it by thee on a golden throne, -- And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!) Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
The face of all the world is changed, I think Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul.
Never say No when the world says Aye
The heart doth recognise thee, Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet, Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,—- Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes," I answered you last night; "No," this morning, sir, I say. Colours seen by candlelight Will not look the same by day.
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm.
A cheerful genius suits the times, / And all true poets laugh unquenchably / Like Shakespeare and the gods.
The great chasm between the thing I say, & the thing I would say, wd be quite dispiriting to me, in spite even of such kindnesses as yours, if the desire did not master the despondency.
Did you think of that? Who burns his viol will not dance, I know. To cymbals, Romney.
Italy/Is one thing, England one.
