Robert Frost Quotes
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Hell is a half-filled auditorium.
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Next to nothing for use.But a crop is a crop,And who's to say where The harvest shall stop?
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Let cloud shapes swarm, / Let chaos storm, / I wait for form.
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Let's get my incantation right: "I wish I may, I wish I might" Give earth another satellite.
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If one by one we counted people out.
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There is little much beyond the grave, but the strong are saying nothing until they see.
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A turning point in modern history.
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If you remember only one thing I've said, remember that an idea is a feat of association, and the height of it is a good metaphor. If you have never made a good metaphor, then you don't know what it's all about.
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Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried into being.
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The greatest thing in family life is to take a hint when a hint is intended-and not to take a hint when a hint isn't intended.
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And of course there must be something wrong In wanting to silence any song.
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Let those possess the land, and only those, Who love it with a love so strong and stupid That they may be abused and taken advantage of And made fun of by business, law, and art....
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The ear is the only true writer and the only true reader. I know people who read without hearing the sentence sounds and they were the fastest readers. Eye readers we call them. They get the meaning by glances. But they are bad readers because they miss the best part of what a good writer puts into his work.
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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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When clever people ask me where I get a poem, I despair.
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The problem for the King is just how strict The lack of liberty, the squeeze of the law And discipline should be in school and state....
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If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.
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Two such as you with such a master speed, cannot be parted nor be swept away, from one another once you are agreed, that life is only life forevermore, together wing to wing and oar to oar.
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Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away / You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
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Live and let live, believe and let believe. 'Twas said the lesser gods were only traits Of the one awful God. Just so the saints Are God's white light refracted into colors.
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I am not a nature poet. There is almost always a person in my poems.
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A champion of the workingman has never been known to die of overwork.
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Anything more than the truth would be too much.
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The nearest friends can go With anyone to death, comes so far short They might as well not try to go at all.