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Yet some say Love by being thrall And simply staying possesses all In several beauty that Thought fares far To find fused in another star.
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What we live by we die by.
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Heaven gives its glimpses only to those not in position to look too close.
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Nearly everybody is looking for something brave to do. I don't know why people shouldn't write poetry. That's brave.
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I never knew what was meant by choice of words. It was one word or none.
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There is one thing more exasperating than a wife who can cook and won't, and that's a wife who can't cook and will.
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But not gold in commercial quantities, Just enough gold to make the engagement rings And marriage rings of those who owned the farm. What gold more innocent could one have asked for?
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Let him that is without stone among you cast the first thing he can lay his hands on.
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My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
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Any work of art must first of all tell a story.
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If one by one we counted people out For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long To get so we had no one left to live with. For to be social is to be forgiving.
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Hope is not found in a way out but a way through.
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The people I want to hear about are the people who take risks.
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Far in the pillared dark Thrush music went- Almost like a call to come in To the dark and lament. But no, I was out for stars: I would not come in. I meant not even if asked, And I hadn't been.
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More men die of worry than of work, because more men worry than work.
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But this we know, the obstacle that checked And tripped the body, shot the spirit on Further than target ever showed or shone.
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Nature does not complete things. She is chaotic. Man must finish, and he does so by making a garden and building a wall.
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Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
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Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.
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One age is like another for the soul.
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Some spirit to stand simply forth, Heroic in its nakedness, Against the uttermost of earth....
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He knew a path that wanted walking; He knew a spring that wanted drinking; A thought that wanted further thinking.