If two lives join, there is oft a scar. They are one and one, with a shadowy third; One near one is too far.
That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one, His hundred's soon hit: This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. That, has the world here-should he need the next, Let the world mind him! This, throws himself on God, and unperplext Seeking shall find Him.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote contrasts the differing aspirations and approaches of low and high individuals, highlighting the consequences of ambition and the search for meaning.
In this quote, Robert Browning explores the differences between individuals who focus on small, achievable goals and those who aspire to great ambitions. The 'low man' is depicted as practical and content with incremental progress, while the 'high man' is seen as someone whose grand aspirations may lead to missed opportunities and existential struggles. Ultimately, the quote suggests that true fulfillment may come from a spiritual connection rather than the mere pursuit of worldly achievements.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
Using this quote during a motivational speech to inspire young entrepreneurs.
More from Robert Browning
All quotes →Tis Man's to explore up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason.
I think, am sure, a brother's love exceeds_x000D_ _x000D_ All the world's loves in its unworldliness.
I dare not so honor my mere wishes and prayers as to put them for a moment beside your noble acts; but this know, I would rather submit to the worst of deaths, so far as pain goes, than have a single dog or cat tortured on the pretence of sparing me a twinge or two.
How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!
How good is life, the mere living!
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