Robert Browning was a Victorian poet who may not have been so very popular back in his day, and although I can't say I love all of his poetry/prose (or poetic novels for that matter), right now he's soothing my burning eyes and feeding my tired, tired soul.
"Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!"
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?"
“Truth lies within ourselves: it takes no rise from outward things, whatever you may believe. There is an inmost center in us all, where truth abides in fullness and to Know rather consists in opening out a way whence the imprisoned splendor may escape than in effecting entry for light supposed to be without.”
"Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought."
On a less serious note:
“So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!"
“Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats"
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