Robert Frost Quotes
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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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Style is less the man than the way a man takes himself.
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I am not a teacher. I am an awakener.
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The Vermont mountains stretch extended straight; New Hampshire mountains curl up in a coil.
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The best things and best people rise out of their separateness; I'm against a homogenized society because I want the cream to rise.
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Time and tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of 30.
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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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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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Than smoke and mist who better could appraise The kindred spirit of an inner haze?
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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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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth.
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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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A man has got to keep his extrication. The important thing is not to get bogged down In what he has to do to earn a living....
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Both T.S. Eliot and I like to play, but I like to play euchre, while he likes to play Eucharist.
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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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What you want, what you're hanging around in the world waiting for, is for something to occur to you.
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A definite purpose, like blinders on a horse, inevitably narrows its possessor's point of view.
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In heaven we are all ghostwriters, if we write at all.
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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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You've got to love what's lovable, and hate what's hateable. It takes brains to see the difference.
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Butterflies...flowers that fly and all but sing.
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I see for Nature no defeat In one tree's overthrow Or for myself in my retreat For yet another blow.
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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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The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom... in a clarification of life - not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion.