What is art but life upon the larger scale, the higher. ...

What is art but life upon the larger scale, the higher. When, graduating up in a spiral line of still expanding and ascending gyres, it pushes toward the intense significance of all things, hungry for the infinite?

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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The beautiful seems right by force of beauty and the feeble wrong because of weakness. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Books, books, books had found the secret of a garret-room piled high with cases in my father's name; Piled high, packed large, where, creeping in and out among the giant fossils of my past, like some small nimble mouse between the ribs of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there at this or that box, pulling through the gap, in heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, the first book first. And how I felt it beat under my pillow, in the morning's dark. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

O earth, so full of dreary noises! / O men, with wailing in your voices! / O delvud gold, the wailers heap! / O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall! / God strikes a silence through you all, / And giveth his beloved, sleep. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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