Robert Frost Quotes
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And one of the three great things in the world is gossip, you know. First there's religion; and then there's science; and there's-and then there's friendly gossip. Those are the three-the three great things.
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When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be.
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Trust him to have his bitter politics Against his unacquaintances the rich. Who sleep in houses of their own, though mortgaged. Conservatives, they don't know what to save.
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You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father s. He's more particular. The father is always a Republican towards his son, and his mother's always a Democrat.
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Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.
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People are inexterminable like flies and bed-bugs. There will always be some that survive in cracks and crevices that's us.
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Democracy is the best chance for the best people.
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Bounds should be set To ingenuity for being so cruel In bringing change unheralded on the unready.
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Friends make pretence of following to the grave but before one is in it, their minds are turned and making the best of their way back to life and living people and things they understand.
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One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
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A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
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The only way around is through.
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A successful lawsuit is the one worn by a policeman.
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Never discuss the poem you contemplate writing. It's like turning on the outside spigot. It takes all the pressure off the upstairs bathroom.
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No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.
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I dwell with a strangely aching heart. In that vanished abode there far apart.
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I would not come in. I meant not even if asked, And I hadn't been.
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Lord, I have loved Your sky, Be it said against or for me, Have loved it clear and high, Or low and stormy....
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Nobody was ever meant, To remember or invent, What he did with every cent.
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What is done is done for the love of it- or not really done at all.
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Poetry is what gets lost in translation. It is also what is lost in interpretation.
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What are we? Young or new? We must be something.
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For I thought Epicurus and Lucretius By Nature meant the Whole Goddam Machinery.
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He burned his house down for the fire insurance and spent the proceeds on a telescope.