Robert Browning

The sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.

Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais): "Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it 'Italy.'"

Every joy is gain, and gain is gain, however small.

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!

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!

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with for evil so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.