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Keats mourned that the rainbow, which as a boy had been for him a magic thing, had lost its glory because the physicists had found it resulted merely from the refraction of the sunlight by the raindrops. Yet knowledge of its causation could not spoil the rainbow for me. I am sure that it is not given to man to be omniscient. There will always be something left to know, something to excite the imagination of the poet and those attuned to the great world in which they live.
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There are three things, after all, that a poem must reach: the eye, the ear, and what we may call the heart or the mind. It is the most important of all to reach the heart of the reader.
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A champion of the working class has never been known to die of overwork.
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Poetry is play. I'd even rather have you think of it as a sport. For instance, like football.
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What are we? Young or new? We must be something.
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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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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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Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. . . . Read it a hundred times; it will forever keep its freshness as a metal keeps its fragrance. It can never lose its sense of a meaning that once unfolded by surprise as it went.
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It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage...
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Summoning artists to participate In the august occasions of the state Seems something artists ought to celebrate. Today is for my cause a day of days.
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We're either nothing or a God's regret.
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One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
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Come grow old with me, for the best is yet to come!
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I heard someone say he [Carl Sandburg] was the kind of writer who had everything to gain and nothing to lose by being translated into another language.
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Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things.
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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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I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.
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A person will sometimes devote all his life to the development of one part of his body - the wishbone.
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I only hope that when I am free, as they are free to go in quest, of the knowledge beyond the bounds of life, it may not seem better to me to rest.
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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
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A liberal is a man too broadminded to take his own side in a quarrel.
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Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down.
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The world is full of willing people; some willing to work, the rest willing to let them.
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Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.