Robert Frost Quotes
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Summary riposte To the dreary wail There's no knowing what Love is all about. Poets know a lot.
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End is a gloomy word.
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You can't trust God to be unmerciful. There you have the beginning of all wisdom.
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I never dared to be radical when young for fear it would make me conservative when old.
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The reason artists show so little interest In public freedom is because the freedom They've come to feel the need of is a kind No one can give them they can scarce attain The freedom of their own material....
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The artist in me cries out for design.
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Don't ever take a fence down until you know why it was put up.
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I write to find out what I didn't know I knew.
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A name with meaning could bring up a child, Taking the child out of the parents' hands. Better a meaningless name, I should say, As leaving more to nature and happy chance. Name children some names and see what you do.
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The mind-is not the heart. I may yet live, as I know others live, To wish in vain to let go with the mind- Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me That I need learn to let go with the heart.
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I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago.
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Create and stir other people to create.
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The Moon for all her light and grace Has never learned to know her place.
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One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
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I have wished a bird would fly away, And not sing by my house all day; Have clapped my hands at him from the door When it seemed as if I could bear no more. The fault must partly have been in me. The bird was not to blame for his key. And of course there must be something wrong In wanting to silence any song.
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To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.
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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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An idea is a feat of association.
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There would be more than ocean-water broken Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.
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I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world.
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The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged--though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.
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Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air.
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Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes Is the deed ever truly done For Heaven and the future's sakes.
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I hate the idea that you ought to read the whole of anybody.