Robert Browning

For life, with all it yields of joy and woe, And hope and fear (believe the aged friend), Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love,- How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.

When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?

It 's a long lane that knows no turnings.

Look not thou down but up!

Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

Ever judge of men by their professions. For though the bright moment of promising is but a moment, and cannot be prolonged, yet if sincere in its moment's extravagant goodness, why, trust it, and know the man by it, I say,- not by his performance; which is half the world's work, interfere as the world needs must with its accidents and circumstances: the profession was purely the man's own. I judge people by what they might be,- not are, nor will be.

To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, And baffled, get up and begin again.

Progress is The law of life: man is not Man as yet.

The ultimate, angels' law, Indulging every instinct of the soul There where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing!

Over my head his arm he flung Against the world.