Robert Browning - Andrea del Sarto

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Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?

Robert Browning

Days decrease,
And autumn grows, autumn in everything.

Robert Browning

Still, what an arm! and I could alter it:
But all the play, the insight and the stretch—
Out of me, out of me!

Robert Browning

I do what many dream of, all their lives,
— Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do,
And fail in doing. I could count twenty such
On twice your fingers, and not leave this town,
Who strive — you don't know how the others strive
To paint a little thing like that you smeared
Carelessly passing with your robes afloat —
Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says,
(I know his name, no matter) — so much less!
Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged.
There burns a truer light of God in them,
In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain,
Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt
This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine.

Robert Browning