Robert Frost Quotes
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I only hope that when I am free, as they are free to go in quest, of the knowledge beyond the bounds of life, it may not seem better to me to rest.
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The sister's face Fell all in wrinkles of responsibility. She wanted to do right. She'd have to think.
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Poetry is play. I'd even rather have you think of it as a sport. For instance, like football.
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Life must be kept up at a great rate in order to absorb any considerable amount of learning.
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Than smoke and mist who better could appraise The kindred spirit of an inner haze?
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You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father's.
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Butterflies...flowers that fly and all but sing.
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I am assured at any rate Man's practically inexterminate. Someday I must go into that. There's always been an Ararat Where someone someone else begat To start the world all over at.
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Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. . . . Read it a hundred times; it will forever keep its freshness as a metal keeps its fragrance. It can never lose its sense of a meaning that once unfolded by surprise as it went.
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A bank is a place where they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and ask for it back when it begins to rain.
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The only way out is to go through.
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Style is that which indicates how the writer takes himself and what he is saying. It is the mind skating circles around itself as it moves forward.
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Everyone asks for freedom for himself, The man free love, the businessman free trade, The writer and talker free speech and free press.
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Originality and initiative are what I ask for my country.
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When I see birches bend to left and right... I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
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He says the best way out is always through. And I can agree to that, or in so far / As that I can see no way out but through.
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We disparage reason. But all the time it's what we're most concerned with. There's will as motor and there's will as brakes. Reason is, I suppose, the steering gear.
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A definite purpose, like blinders on a horse, inevitably narrows its possessor's point of view.
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Oh, come forth into the storm and rout And be my love in the rain.
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States strong enough to do good are but few. Their number would seem limited to three.
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Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
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For I have had too much Of apple-picking:I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired.
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Something sinister in the tone Told me my secret must be known: Word I was in the house alone Somehow must have gotten abroad, Word I was in my life alone, Word I had no one left but God.
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I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.