Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, / No man hath walked along our roads with step / So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue/ So varied in discourse.

No ashes are lighter than those of incense, and few things burn out sooner

There are no fields of amaranth on this side of the grave: there are no voices, O Rhodope! that are not soon mute, however tuneful: there is no name, with whatever emphasis of passionate love repeated, of which the echo is not faint at last.

A man's vanity tells him what is honor, a man's conscience what is justice.

Music is God's gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven.

No ashes are lighter than those of incense, and few things burn out sooner.