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Always Fall In With What You're Asked To Accept. Take What Is Given, And Make It Over Your Way. My Aim In Life Has Always Been To Hold My Own With Whatever's Going. Not Against: With.

-Robert Frost

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Always Fall In With

Robert Frost

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Always Fall In With What You're Asked To Accept. Take What Is Given, And Make It Over Your Way. My Aim In Life Has Always Been To Hold My Own With Whatever's Going. Not Against: With.

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How Many Times It Thundered Before Franklin Took The Hint! How Many Apples Fell On Newton's Head Before He Took The Hint! Nature Is Always Hinting At Us. It Hints Over And Over Again. And Suddenly We Take The Hint.

I Never Feel More At Home Than At A Ballgame.

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.

If There Is One Thing In Life That I Have Learned About Life It Is... It Goes On.

Like A Piece Of Ice On A Hot Stove The Poem Must Ride On Its Own Melting.

To Be A Poet Is A Condition, Not A Profession.

It Should Be Of The Pleasure Of A Poem Itself To Tell How It Can. The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom. The Figure Is The Same For Love.

(soft Petals, Yes, But Not So Barren Quite, Mingled With These, Smooth Bean And Wrinkled Pea;) And Go Along With You Ere You Lose Sight Of What You Came For And Become Like Me, Slave To A Springtime Passion For The Earth. How Love Burns Through The Putting In The Seed On Through The Watching For That Early Birth When, Just As The Soil Tarnishes With Weed, The Sturdy Seedling With Arched Body Comes Shouldering Its Way And Shedding The Earth Crumbs.

Fireflies In The Garden By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Here Come Real Stars To Fill The Upper Skies, And Here On Earth Come Emulating Flies, That Though They Never Equal Stars In Size, (and They Were Never Really Stars At Heart) Achieve At Times A Very Star-like Start. Only, Of Course, They Can't Sustain The Part.

The Test Is Always How We Treat The Poor.

What We Live By We Die By.

Yes, And Even For The Past...that It Will Turn Out To Have Been All Right For What It Was. Something I Can Accept. Mistakes Made By The Self I Had To Be Or Was Not Able To Be.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak, Until We Found It Was Ourselves.

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.

Oh, Come Forth Into The Storm And Rout And Be My Love In The Rain.

At Bottom The World Isn't A Joke. We Only Joke About It To Avoid An Issue With Someone, To Let Someone Know That We Know He's There With His Questions; To Disarm Him By Seeming To Have Heard And Done Justice To His Side Of The Standing Argument.

It Comes Down To A Doubt About The Wisdom Of Having Children After Having Had Them, So There Is Nothing We Can Do About It But Warn The Children They Perhaps Should Have None.

But This We Know, The Obstacle That Checked And Tripped The Body, Shot The Spirit On Further Than Target Ever Showed Or Shone.

I Think I Know Enough Of Hate To Say That For Destruction Ice Is Also Great And Would Suffice.

The Sister's Face Fell All In Wrinkles Of Responsibility. She Wanted To Do Right. She'd Have To Think.

Suddenly, Quietly, You Realize That - From This Moment Forth - You Will No Longer Walk Through This Life Alone. Like A New Sun This Awareness Arises Within You, Freeing You From Fear, Opening Your Life. It Is The Beginning Of Love, And The End Of All That Came Before.

You've Got To Love What's Lovable, And Hate What's Hateable. It Takes Brains To See The Difference.

The Only Way Round Is Through.

I Never Knew What Was Meant By Choice Of Words. It Was One Word Or None.

I'd Like To Get Away From Earth Awhile / And Then Come Back To It And Begin Over.

But I May Be One Who Does Not Care Ever To Have Tree Bloom Or Bear.

Two Roads Diverged In A Wood And I - I Took The One Less Traveled By, And That Has Made All The Difference.

Hell Is A Half-filled Auditorium.

Nothing Can Make Injustice Just But Mercy.

The Old Dog Barks Backward Without Getting Up I Can Remember When He Was A Pup.

A Turning Point In Modern History.

I Shall Set Forth For Somewhere, I Shall Make The Reckless Choice Some Say When They Are In Voice And Tossing So As To Scare The White Clouds Over Them On, I Shall Have Less To Say, But I Shall Be None.

Education Doesn't Change Life Much. It Just Lifts Trouble To A Higher Plane Of Regard.

I Am Assured At Any Rate Man's Practically Inexterminate. Someday I Must Go Into That. There's Always Been An Ararat Where Someone Someone Else Begat To Start The World All Over At.

Any Work Of Art Must First Of All Tell A Story.

A Poem Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom.

Not Yesterday I Learned To Know The Love Of Bare November Days Before The Coming Of The Snow.

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose.

Keep All Ur Troubles In Ur Own Pocket. But, Make Sure That The Pocket Has A Hole!

I Would Not Come In. I Meant Not Even If Asked, And I Hadn't Been.

The Nearest Friends Can Go With Anyone To Death, Comes So Far Short They Might As Well Not Try To Go At All.

All Thought Is A Feat Of Association; Having What's In Front Of You Bring Up Something In Your Mind That You Almost Didn't Know You Knew

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.

Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall, And Wants It Down.

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.

Unless I'm Wrong I But Obey The Urge Of A Song: I'm-bound-away! And I May Return If Dissatisfied With What I Learn From Having Died.

... War Is For Everyone, For Children Too. I Wasn't Going To Tell You And I Mustn't. The Best Way Is To Come Uphill With Me And Have Our Fire And Laugh And Be Afraid.

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.

I'm Always Saying Something That's Just The Edge Of Something More.

I Am Not A Teacher. I Am An Awakener.

They Would Not Find Me Changed From Him They Knew - Only More Sure Of All I Thought Was True.

Americans Are Like A Rich Father Who Wishes He Knew How To Give His Son The Hardships That Made Him Rich.

Poetry Is When An Emotion Has Found Its Thought And The Thought Has Found Words.

Not To Sink Under Being Man And Wife, But Get Some Color And Music Out Of Life?

You've Got To Be Brave And You've Got To Be Bold. Brave Enough To Take Your Chance On Your Own Discrimination, What's Right And What's Wrong, What's Good And What's Bad.

Poetry Is Play. I'd Even Rather Have You Think Of It As A Sport. For Instance, Like Football.

Writing A Poem Is Discovering.

Nothing Is Quite Honest That Is Not Commercial, But Not Everything Commercial Is Honest.

Nature Is Always Hinting At Us.

When Work Becomes Play, And Play Becomes Your Work, Your Life Unfolds.

An Idea Is A Feat Of Association.

The Difference Between A Man And His Valet: They Both Smoke The Same Cigars, But Only One Pays For Them.

An Idea Comes As Near To Something For Nothing As You Can Get.

My Goal In Life Is To Unite My Avocation With My Vocation, As My Two Eyes Make One In Sight.

But What Would Interest You About The Brook, It's Always Cold In Summer, Warm In Winter.

The Afternoon Knows What The Morning Never Suspected.

Love Is An Irresistible Desire To Be Irresistibly Desired.

Bounds Should Be Set To Ingenuity For Being So Cruel In Bringing Change Unheralded On The Unready.

Courage Is Of The Heart By Derivation, And Great It Is. But Fear Is Of The Soul.

There Is Absolutely No Reason For Being Rushed Along With The Rush. Everybody Should Be Free To Go Slow.

It's God - I Recognised Him From Blake's Picture.

Both T.s. Eliot And I Like To Play, But I Like To Play Euchre, While He Likes To Play Eucharist.

I Dwell With A Strangely Aching Heart In That Vanished Abode There Far Apart

I Never Take My Own Side In A Quarrel.

A Poem Begins As A Lump In The Throat, A Sense Of Wrong, A Homesickness, A Lovesickness.

Thinking Isn't Agreeing Or Disagreeing. That's Voting.

Skepticism, Is That Anything More Than We Used To Mean When We Said, Well, What Have We Here?

Courage Is The Human Virtue That Counts Most-courage To Act On Limited Knowledge And Insufficient Evidence. That's All Any Of Us Have.

He Thought That I Was After Him For A Feather--- The White One In His Tail: Like One Who Takes Everything Said As Personal To Himself.

The Only Certain Freedom's In Departure.

A Liberal Is A Man Too Broadminded To Take His Own Side In A Quarrel.

Men Work Together, Whether They Work Together Or Apart.

Working Together

Evolution Is Like Walking On A Rolling Barrel. The Walker Isn't So Much Interested In Where The Barrel Is Going As He Is In Keeping On Top Of It.

One Of The Lies Would Make It Out That Nothing Ever Presents Itself Before Us Twice. Where Would We Be At Last If That Were So? Our Very Life Depends On Everything's Recurring Till We Answer From Within.

Nature Does Not Complete Things. She Is Chaotic. Man Must Finish, And He Does So By Making A Garden And Building A Wall.

Let Me Be The One To Do What Is Done.

The Moon For All Her Light And Grace Has Never Learned To Know Her Place.

You, Of Course, Are A Rose-- But Were Always A Rose.

'warm In December, Cold In June, You Say?' I Don't Suppose The Water's Changed At All. You And I Know Enough To Know It's Warm Compared With Cold, And Cold Compared With Warm. But All The Fun's In How You Say A Thing.

Don't Be An Agnostic. Be Something.

Life Is Tons Of Discipline. Your First Discipline Is Your Vocabulary; Then Your Grammar And Your Punctuation Then, In Your Exuberance And Bounding Energy You Say You're Going To Add To That. Then You Add Rhyme And Meter. And Your Delight Is In That Power.

I Am Not A Nature Poet. There Is Almost Always A Person In My Poems.

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat

Nobody Was Ever Meant, To Remember Or Invent, What He Did With Every Cent.

Sentences Are Not Different Enough To Hold The Attention Unless They Are Dramatic. No Ingenuity Of Varying Structure Will Do. All That Can Save Them Is The Speaking Tone Of Voice Somehow Entangled In The Words And Fastened To The Page For The Ear Of The Imagination. That Is All That Can Save Poetry From Sing-song, All That Can Save Prose From Itself.

The Poet, As Everyone Knows, Must Strike His Individual Note Sometime Between The Ages Of Fifteen And Twenty-five. He May Hold It A Long Time, Or A Short Time, But It Is Then That He Must Strike It Or Never. School And College Have Been Conducted With The Almost Express Purpose Of Keeping Him Busy With Something Else Till The Danger Of His Ever Creating Anything Is Past.

There's Nothing I'm Afraid Of Like Scared People.

What An Exciting Age It Is We Live In With All This Talk About The Hope Of Youth And Nothing Made Of Youth.

Talking Is A Hydrant In The Yard And Writing Is A Faucet Upstairs In The House. Opening The First Takes The Pressure Off The Second.

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.

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.

A Voice Said, Look Me In The Stars And Tell Me Truly, Men Of Earth, If All The Soul-and-body Scars Were Not Too Much To Pay For Birth.

If You're Looking For Something To Be Brave About, Consider Fine Arts.

You're Searching... For Things That Don't Exist; I Mean Beginnings. Ends And Beginnings - There Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

Time And Tide Wait For No Man, But Time Always Stands Still For A Woman Of 30.

Of Course There Is Matter For Remark In Poems. Nobody Denies That. But It Must Be Solemnly Laid On Everybody In This World To Make His Own Observations And Remarks. That's What We Mean By Thinking, And That's About All We Mean. A Teacher Says To A Pupil "watch Me Notice A Few Things In The Next Few Months: Let's See You Notice A Few Things Too."

Our Lives Laid Down In War And Peace May Not Be Found Acceptable In Heaven's Sight. And That They May Be Is The Only Prayer Worth Praying. May My Sacrifice Be Found Acceptable In Heaven's Sight.

For I Have Had Too Much Of Apple-picking:i Am Overtired Of The Great Harvest I Myself Desired.

Our Life Runs Down In Sending Up The Clock. The Brook Runs Down In Sending Up Our Life. The Sun Runs Down In Sending Up The Brook. And There Is Something Sending Up The Sun. It Is This Backward Motion Toward The Source, Against The Stream, That Most We See Ourselves In, The Tribute Of The Current To The Source. It Is From This In Nature We Are From. It Is Most Us.

Unless You Are Educated In Metaphor, You Are Not Safe To Be Let Loose In The World.

As A Confirmed Astronomer I'm Always For A Better Sky.

Poetry Should Be Common In Experience But Uncommon In Books.

I Have Miles To Go Before I Sleep.

Take Care To Sell Your Horse Before He Dies. The Art Of Life Is Passing Losses On.

The World Is Full Of Willing People; Some Willing To Work, The Rest Willing To Let Them.

Life Must Be Kept Up At A Great Rate In Order To Absorb Any Considerable Amount Of Learning.

He Is All Pine And I Am Apple Orchard. My Apple Trees Will Never Get Across And Eat The Cones Under His Pines, I Tell Him. He Only Says, "good Fences Make Good Neighbors.

A Civilized Society Is One Which Tolerates Eccentricity To The Point Of Doubtful Sanity.

One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.

So Was I Once Myself A Swinger Of Birches. And So I Dream Of Going Back To Be.

I'd Just As Soon Play Tennis With The Net Down.

The Armful For Every Parcel I Stoop Down To Seize I Lose Some Other Off My Arms And Knees, And The Whole Pile Is Slipping, Bottles, Buns, Extremes Too Hard To Comprehend At. Once Yet Nothing I Should Care To Leave Behind. With All I Have To Hold With Hand And Mind And Heart, If Need Be, I Will Do My Best. To Keep Their Building Balanced At My Breast. I Crouch Down To Prevent Them As They Fall; Then Sit Down In The Middle Of Them All. I Had To Drop The Armful In The Road And Try To Stack Them In A Better Load.

I'm Not A Teacher, But An Awakener.

I Am One Who Has Been Acquainted With The Night

When I Was Young, I Was So Interested In Baseball That My Family Was Afraid I'd Waste My Life And Be A Pitcher. Later They Were Afraid I'd Waste My Life And Be A Poet. They Were Right.

Belief Is Better Than Anything Else, And It Is Best When Rapt - Above Paying Its Respects To Anybody's Doubt Whatsoever.

Poets Need Not Go To Niagara To Write About The Force Of Falling Water.

We Can Make A Little Order Where We Are, And Then The Big Sweep Of History On Which We Can Have No Effect Doesn't Overwhelm Us. We Do It With Colors, With A Garden, With The Furnishings Of A Room, Or With Sounds And Words. We Make A Little Form, And We Gain Composure.

All The Fun Is In How You Say A Thing.

Style Is That Which Indicates How The Writer Takes Himself And What He Is Saying. It Is The Mind Skating Circles Around Itself As It Moves Forward.

A Mother Takes Twenty Years To Make A Man Of Her Boy, And Another Woman Makes A Fool Of Him In Twenty Minutes.

Nor Is There Wanting In The Press Some Spirit To Stand Simply Forth, Heroic In It Nakedness, Against The Uttermost Of Earth. The Tale Of Earth's Unhonored Things Sounds Nobler There Than 'neath The Sun; And The Mind Whirls And The Heart Sings, And A Shout Greets The Daring One.

Poetry Is A Way Of Taking Life By The Throat.

I've Given Offense By Saying I'd As Soon Write Free Verse As Play Tennis With The Net Down.

In A Glass Of Cider It Seemed I Was A Mite Of Sediment That Waited For The Bottom To Ferment So I Could Catch A Bubble In Ascent. I Rode Up On One Till The Bubble Burst, And When That Left Me To Sink Back Reversed I Was No Worse Off Than I Was At First. I'd Catch Another Bubble If I Waited. The Thing Was To Get Now And Then Elated.

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.

Nothing Not Built With Hands Of Course Is Sacred. But Here Is Not A Question Of What's Sacred; Rather Of What To Face Or Run Away From. I'd Hate To Be A Runaway From Nature.

Poetry Is What Is Lost In Translation. It Is Also What Is Lost In Interpretation.

The Question That He Frames In All But Words Is What To Make Of A Diminished Thing.

The Master Speed No Speed Of Wind Or Water Rushing By But You Have Speed Far Greater. You Can Climb Back Up A Stream Of Radiance To The Sky, And Back Through History Up The Stream Of Time. And You Were Given This Swiftness, Not For Haste Nor Chiefly That You May Go Where You Will, But In The Rush Of Everything To Waste, That You May Have The Power Of Standing Still-- Off Any Still Or Moving Thing You Say. Two Such As You With Such A Master Speed From One Another Once You Are Agreed That Life Is Only Life Forevermore Together Wing To Wing And Oar To Oar.

Let Cloud Shapes Swarm, / Let Chaos Storm, / I Wait For Form.

States Strong Enough To Do Good Are But Few. Their Number Would Seem Limited To Three.

I'd Like To Get Away From Earth Awhile And Then Come Back To It And Begin Over. May No Fate Wilfully Misunderstand Me And Half Grant What I Wish And Snatch Me Away Not To Return. Earth's The Right Place For Love: I Don't Know Where It's Likely To Go Better.

Everything Written Is As Good As It Is Dramatic. It Need Not Declare Itself In Form, But It Is Drama Or Nothing.

Being The Boss Anywhere Is Lonely. Being A Female Boss In A World Of Mostly Men Is Especially So.

Humour Is The Most Engaging Cowardice. With It Myself I Have Been Able To Hold Some Of My Enemy In Play Far Out Of Gunshot.

The Trees That Have It In Their Pent-up Buds To Darken Nature And Be Summer Woods.

One Aged Man - One Man - Can't Fill A House.

A Person Will Sometimes Devote All His Life To The Development Of One Part Of His Body - The Wishbone.

Something Sinister In The Tone Told Me My Secret Must Be Known: Word I Was In The House Alone Somehow Must Have Gotten Abroad, Word I Was In My Life Alone, Word I Had No One Left But God.

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.

Before Now Poetry Has Taken Notice Of Wars, And What Are Wars But Politics Transformed From Chronic To Acute And Bloody?

Some Say The World Will End In Fire, Some Say In Ice.

More Men Die Of Worry Than Of Work, Because More Men Worry Than Work.

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.

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.

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.

If The Day Ever Comes When They Know Who They Are, They May Know Better Where They Are.

I'm Not Confused. I'm Just Well Mixed.

Funny Inspirational

What Makes A Nation In The Beginning Is A Good Piece Of Geography.

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.

Humor Is The Most Engaging Cowardice.

Thinking Is Not To Agree Or Disagree. That's Voting.

They Cannot Scare Me With Their Empty Spaces Between Stars—on Stars Where No Human Race Is. I Have It In Me So Much Nearer Home To Scare Myself With My Own Desert Places.

Nearly Everybody Is Looking For Something Brave To Do. I Don't Know Why People Shouldn't Write Poetry. That's Brave.

The Father Is Always A Republican Toward His Son, And His Mother's Always A Democrat.

We're Either Nothing Or A God's Regret.

Human Condition

That Day She Put Our Heads Together, Fate Had Her Imagination About Her, Your Head So Much Concerned With Outer, Mine With Inner, Weather.

I Do Not See Why I Should E’er Turn Back, Or Those Should Not Set Forth Upon My Track To Overtake Me, Who Should Miss Me Here And Long To Know If Still I Held Them Dear. They Would Not Find Me Changed From Him They Knew — Only More Sure Of All I Thought Was True.

Nature's First Green Is Gold.

It Is Absurd To Think That The Only Way To Tell If A Poem Is Lasting Is To Wait And See If It Lasts. The Right Reader Of A Good Poem Can Tell The Moment It Strikes Him That He Has Taken An Immortal Wound-that He Will Never Get Over It.

I Still Say The Only Education Worth Anything Is Self-education.

For, Dear Me, Why Abandon A Belief, Merely Because It Ceases To Be True, Cling To It Long Enough, And Not A Doubt, It Will Turn True Again, For So It Goes.

A Poem May Be Worked Over Once It Is In Being, But May Not Be Worried Into Being.

No, In Country Money, The Country Scale Of Gain, The Requisite Lift Of Spirit Has Never Been Found.

A Breeze Discovered My Open Book And Began To Flutter The Leaves To Look

I Could Give All To Time Except--except What I Myself Have Held.

But These Are Flowers That Fly And All But Sing: And Now From Having Ridden Out Desire They Lie Closed Over In The Wind And Cling Where Wheels Have Freshly Sliced The April Mire.

A Diplomat Is A Man Who Always Remembers A Woman's Birthday But Never Remembers Her Age.

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.

But Strictly Held By None, Is Loosely Bound By Countless Silken Ties Of Love And Thought To Everything On Earth The Compass Round, And Only By One's Going Slightly Taut In The Capriciousness Of Summer Air Is Of The Slightest Bondage Made Aware.

The First Thing I Do In The Morning Is To Make My Bed And While I Am Making Up My Bed I Am Making Up My Mind As To What Kind Of A Day I Am Going To Have.

He Burned His House Down For The Fire Insurance And Spent The Proceeds On A Telescope.

Oh, Give Us Pleasure In The Orch-ard White, Like Nothing Else By Day, Like Ghosts By Night.

And Of Course There Must Be Something Wrong In Wanting To Silence Any Song.

Haven't You Heard, Though, About The Ships Where War Has Found Them Out At Sea, About The Towns Where War Has Come Through Opening Clouds At Night With Droning Speed Further O'erhead Than All But Stars And Angels And Children In The Ships And In The Towns?

One Of The Hardest Things In Life To Accept Is A Called Third Strike.

Of All Crimes The Worst Is To Steal The Glory From The Great And Brave, Even More Accursed Than To Rob The Grave.

The Only Way Out Is Through.

Christian Inspirational

Scholars And Artists Thrown Together Are Often Annoyed At The Puzzle Of Where They Differ. Both Work From Knowledge; But I Suspectthey Differ Most Importantly In The Way Their Knowledge Is Come By. Scholars Get Theirs With Conscientious Thoroughness Along Projected Lines Of Logic; Poets Theirs Cavalierly And As It Happens In And Out Of Books. They Stick To Nothing Deliberately, But Let What Will Stick To Them Like Burrs Where They Walk In The Fields.

The Hurt Is Not Enough: I Long For Weight And Strength. To Feel The Earth As Rough To All My Length

Home Is The Place Where, When You Have To Go There, They Have To Take You In.

I Don't Like To See Things On Purpose. I Like Them To Soak In. A Friend . . . Asked Me To Go To The Top Of The Empire State Building Once, And I Told Him That He Shouldn't Treat New York As A Sight-it's Feeling, An Emotional Experience. And The Same With Every Place Else.

I Hate The Idea That You Ought To Read The Whole Of Anybody.

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.

Nations Like The Cuban And The Swiss Can Never Hope To Wage A Global Mission. No Holy Wars For Them. The Most The Small Can Ever Give Us Is A Nuisance Brawl.

Ah, When To The Heart Of Man Was It Ever Less Than A Treason To Go With The Drift Of Things, To Yield With A Grace To Reason, And Bow And Accept The End Of A Love Or A Season?

Have Courage And A Little Willingness To Venture And Be Defeated.

Don't Ever Take A Fence Down Until You Know Why It Was Put Up.

I Wonder About The Trees. Why Do We Wish To Bear Forever The Noise Of These More Than Another Noise So Close To Our Dwelling Place?

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