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College is a refuge from hasty judgment.
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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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Memento mori and obey the Lord. Art and religion love the somber chord.
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Far more violence has been done in obeying the law than in breaking the law.
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Nothing not built with hands of course is sacred. But here is not a question of what's sacred; Rather of what to face or run away from. I'd hate to be a runaway from nature.
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Everything written is as good as it is dramatic. It need not declare itself in form, but it is drama or nothing.
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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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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
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Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.
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The chance is the remotest. Of its going much longer unnoticed. That I'm not keeping pace With the headlong human race.
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The only way out is to go through.
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You can't trust God to be unmerciful. There you have the beginning of all wisdom.
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States strong enough to do good are but few. Their number would seem limited to three.
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Poetry is the renewal of words, setting them free, and that's what a poet is doing: loosening the words.
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I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago.
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The reason why worry kills more people than work is that more people worry than work.
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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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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.
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I fail to see what fun, what satisfaction / A God can find in laughing at how badly / Men fumble at the possibilities...
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Courage is of the heart by derivation, And great it is. But fear is of the soul.
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Thinking isn't agreeing or disagreeing. That's voting.
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O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away.
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People who read me seem to be divided into four groups: twenty-five percent like me for the right reasons; twenty-five percent like me for the wrong reasons; twenty-five percent hate me for the wrong reasons; twenty-five percent hate me for the right reasons. It's that last twenty-five percent that worries me.
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You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father's.