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The Sad Rhyme Of The Men Who Proudly Clung To Their First Fault, And Withered In Their Pride.
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The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung
To their first fault, and withered in their pride.
-- Robert Browning (1812-1890)
-- Paracelsus, Part iv
Related:
God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.
-- Robert Browning (1812-1890) -- Paracelsus, Part ii...
That we devote ourselves to God, is seen In living just as though no God there were.
-- Robert Browning (1812-1890) -- Paracelsus, Part i...
Be sure that God Ne'er dooms to waste the strength he deigns impart.
-- Robert Browning (1812-1890) -- Paracelsus, Part i...
Progress is The law of life: man is not Man as yet.
-- Robert Browning (1812-1890) -- Paracelsus, Part v...
Are there not, dear Michal, Two points in the adventure of the diver,-- One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge
One, when a prince he rises with his pearl? Festus, I plunge....
I give the fight up: let there be an end, A privacy, an obscure nook for me.
I want to be forgotten even by God. -- Robert Browning (1812-1890) -- Paracelsus, Part v...
All service ranks the same with God,-- With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we
here is no last nor first. -- Robert Browning (1812-1890) -- Pippa Passes, Part iv...
I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,--what time, what circuit first, I ask no
but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive...
How sad and bad and mad it was! But then, how it was sweet!
-- Robert Browning (1812-1890) -- Confessions, ix...