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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.

-Robert Frost

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I Don't Like To

Robert Frost

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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.

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For I Thought Epicurus And Lucretius By Nature Meant The Whole Goddam Machinery.

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.

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

Let's Get My Incantation Right: "i Wish I May, I Wish I Might" Give Earth Another Satellite.

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.

You Know How Cunningly Mankind Is Planned: We Have One Loving And One Hating Hand. The Loving's Made To Hold Each Other Like, While With The Hating Other Hand We Strike.

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

Everyone Asks For Freedom For Himself, The Man Free Love, The Businessman Free Trade, The Writer And Talker Free Speech And Free Press.

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.

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.

Poetry Should Be Common In Experience But Uncommon In Books.

When A Friend Calls To Me From The Road And Slows His Horse To A Meaning Walk, I Don't Stand Still And Look Around On All The Hills I Haven't Hoed, And Shout From Where I Am, What Is It? No, Not As There Is A Time To Talk. I Thrust My Hoe In The Mellow Ground, Blade-end Up And Five Feet Tall, And Plod: I Go Up To The Stone Wall For A Friendly Visit.

As It Is More Blessed To Receive, So It Must Be More Blessed To Receive Than To Give Back.

The Only Way Around Is Through.

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

God Made A Beauteous Garden With Lovely Flowers Strown, But One Straight, Narrow Pathway That Was Not Overgrown. And To This Beauteous Garden He Brought Mankind To Live, And Said "to You, My Children, These Lovely Flowers I Give. Prune Ye My Vines And Fig Trees, With Care My Flowers Tend, But Keep The Pathway Open Your Home Is At The End." God's Garden

A Jury Consists Of Twelve Persons Chosen To Decide Who Has The Better Lawyer.

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

Many Lovers Have Been Divorced By Having What Is Free Enforced.

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

Lord, I Have Loved Your Sky, Be It Said Against Or For Me, Have Loved It Clear And High, Or Low And Stormy...

Poetry Begins In Trivial Metaphors, Pretty Metaphors, "grace" Metaphors, And Goes On To The Profoundest Thinking That We Have. Poetry Provides The One Permissible Way Of Saying One Thing And Meaning Another. People Say, "why Don’t You Say What You Mean?" We Never Do That, Do We, Being All Of Us Too Much Poets. We Like To Talk In Parables And In Hints And In Indirections - Whether From Diffidence Or Some Other Instinct.

Never Discuss The Poem You Contemplate Writing. It's Like Turning On The Outside Spigot. It Takes All The Pressure Off The Upstairs Bathroom.

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

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

I Hope To Leave Behind A Few Poems It Will Be Hard To Get Rid Of.

Live Life Like Its The Last Breath You Take For That Breath Is The Whole Essence Of Living, The Little Things In Life Are What Connects Us To All The Big Things We Live For

Style Is Less The Man Than The Way A Man Takes Himself.

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

In Heaven We Are All Ghostwriters, If We Write At All.

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

Only Where Love And Need Are One, And The Work Is Play For Mortal Stakes Is The Deed Ever Truly Done For Heaven And The Future's Sakes

A True Sonnet Goes Eight Lines And Then Takes A Turn For Better Or Worse And Goes Six Or Eight Lines More.

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.

Nothing Can Make Injustice Just But Mercy.

A Champion Of The Workingman Has Never Been Known To Die Of Overwork.

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

He Says The Best Way Out Is Always Through. / And I Can Agree To That, Or In So Far / As That I Can See No Way Out But Through

It Takes All Sorts Of In And Outdoor Schooling To Get Adapted To My Kind Of Fooling.

Nature's First Green Is Gold.

(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.

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.

Man That Is Of Woman Born Is Apt To Be As Vain Has His Mother.

Freud Was Way Off Base In Considering Sex The Fundamental Motivation. The Ruling Passion In Men Is Minding Each Other's Business.

Nature Is Always Hinting At Us.

Loyalty Is That For The Lack Of Which Your Gang Will Shoot You Without Benefit Of Trial By Jury.

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

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

To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

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

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.

Freedom Lies In Being Bold.

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

I Never Feel More At Home Than At A Ballgame.

Lovers, Forget Your Love And List To The Love Of These She A Window Flower And He A Winter Breeze.

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

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

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

Nothing Flatters Me More Than To Have It Assumed That I Could Write Prose, Unless It Be To Have It Assumed That I Once Pitched A Baseball With Distinction.

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.

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

The Best Things And Best People Rise Out Of Their Separateness; I'm Against A Homogenized Society Because I Want The Cream To Rise.

Men Work Together, Whether They Work Together Or Apart.

Working Together

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

Some Say The World Will End In Fire, Some Say In Ice. From What I've Tasted Of Desire, I Hold With Those Who Favor Fire. But If It Had To Perish Twice I Think I Know Enough Of Hate To Say That For Destruction Ice Is Also Great And Would Suffice.

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

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 (p. 64)

I Fail To See What Fun, What Satisfaction / A God Can Find In Laughing At How Badly / Men Fumble At The Possibilities.

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

We Love The Things We Love For What They Are.

Inspirational Love

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.

If The Writer Does Not Cry, The Reader Does Not Cry.

Don't Be Agnostic - Be Something.

Butterflies...flowers That Fly And All But Sing.

Monarch Butterfly

Humor Is The Most Engaging Cowardice.

The Best Way Out Is Always Through.

Forgive, O Lord, My Little Jokes On Thee, And I'll Forgive Thy Great Big Joke On Me.

The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom.

Half The World Is Composed Of People Who Have Something To Say And Can't, And The Other Half Who Have Nothing To Say And Keep On Saying It.

There Never Was Any Heart Truly Great And Generous, That Was Not Also Tender And Compassionate.

Poetry Is A Way Of Taking Life By The Throat.

I Turned To Speak To God About The World's Despair But To Make Bad Matters Worse I Found God Wasn't There.

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

... A Nation Has To Take Its Natural Course Of Progress Round And Round In Circles From King To Mob To King To Mob To King Until The Eddy Of It Eddies Out.

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

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.

I Alone Of English Writers Have Consciously Set Myself To Make Music Out Of What I May Call The Sound Of Sense.

The Test Is Always How We Treat The Poor.

Have I Not Walked Without An Upward Look Of Caution Under Stars That Very Well Might Not Have Missed Me When They Shot And Fell? It Was A Risk I Had To Take-and Took.

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

Gathering Leaves Spades Take Up Leaves No Better Than Spoons, And Bags Full Of Leaves Are Light As Balloons. I Make A Great Noise Of Rustling All Day Like Rabbit And Deer Running Away. But The Mountains I Raise Elude My Embrace, Flowing Over My Arms And Into My Face. I May Load And Unload Again And Again Till I Fill The Whole Shed, And What Have I Then? Next To Nothing For Weight, And Since They Grew Duller From Contact With Earth, Next To Nothing For Color. Next To Nothing For Use. But A Crop Is A Crop, And Who's To Say Where The Harvest Shall Stop?

What Is This Talked-of Mystery Of Birth. But Being Mounted Bareback On The Earth?

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.

Writing Free Verse Is Like Playing Tennis With The Net Down.

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

A Name With Meaning Could Bring Up A Child, Taking The Child Out Of The Parents' Hands. Better A Meaningless Name, I Should Say, As Leaving More To Nature And Happy Chance. Name Children Some Names And See What You Do.

Ants Are A Curious Race

Writing A Poem Is Discovering.

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

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.

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

What We Live By We Die By.

The Ear Is The Only True Writer And The Only True Reader.

End Is A Gloomy Word.

Hell Is A Half-filled Auditorium.

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose, And The Pear Is, And So's The Plum, I Suppose. The Dear Only Knows What Will Next Prove A Rose. You, Of Course, Are A Rose - But Were Always A Rose.

Courage Is In The Air In Bracing Whiffs Better Than All The Stalemate An's And Ifs.

How Are We To Write The Russian Novel In America As Long As Life Goes So Unterribly?

Some Spirit To Stand Simply Forth, Heroic In Its Nakedness, Against The Uttermost Of Earth.

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

Meditate Nothing. Learn To Contemplate. Contemplate Glory. There Will Be A Light. Contemplate Truth Until It Burns Your Eyes Out.

People Are Inexterminable - Like Flies And Bed-bugs. There Will Always Be Some That Survive In Cracks And Crevices - That's Us.

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

Poets Like Shakespeare Know More About Poetry Than Any $25 An Hour Man.

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

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

I Was Under Twenty When I Deliberately Put It To Myself One Night After Good Conversation That There Are Moments When We Actually Touch In Talk What The Best Writing Can Only Come Near. The Curse Of Our Book Language Is Not So Much That It Keeps Forever To The Same Set Phrases . . . But That It Sounds Forever With The Same Reading Tones. We Must Go Out Into The Vernacular For Tones That Haven't Been Brought To Book.

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.

All There Is To Writing Is Having Ideas. To Learn To Write Is To Learn To Have Ideas.

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.

... 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.

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

And Were An Epitaph To Be My Story I'd Have A Short One Ready For My Own. I Would Have Written Of Me On My Stone: I Had A Lover's Quarrel With The World.

For Me The Initial Delight Is In The Surprise Of Remembering Something I Didn't Know I Knew. I Have Never Started A Poem Yet Whose End I Knew.

The Land Was Ours Before We Were The Land's. She Was Our Land More Than A Hundred Years Before We Were Her People.

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

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.

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 Mind-is Not The Heart. I May Yet Live, As I Know Others Live, To Wish In Vain To Let Go With The Mind- Of Cares, At Night, To Sleep; But Nothing Tells Me That I Need Learn To Let Go With The Heart.

The People I Want To Hear About Are The People Who Take Risks.

We Get Twitted Now And Then On How We Made This Country. Well, We Took The Whole Business, Of Course. It's Not Just That Corner That We Took From Mexico. When We Got It All Together, We Got A Very Shapely Country-the Best Continental Cut In All The World, Between The Two Oceans And In The Right Temperature Zone.

The Artist In Me Cries Out For Design.

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

But He Had Gone His Way, The Grass All Mown, And I Must Be, As He Had Been - Alone, As All Must Be, I Said Within My Heart, Whether They Work Together Or Apart.

The Vermont Mountains Stretch Extended Straight; New Hampshire Mountains Curl Up In A Coil.

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.

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.

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.

So When At Times The Mob Is Swayed To Carry Praise Or Blame Too Far, We May Choose Something Like A Star To Stay Our Minds On And Be Staid.

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

The Fact Is The Sweetest Dream That Labor Knows.

There Are Tones Of Voices That Mean More Than Words.

Let Him That Is Without Stone Among You Cast The First Thing He Can Lay His Hands On.

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

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

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.

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?

We Dance Round In A Ring And Suppose, But The Secret Sits In The Middle And Knows.

One Luminary Clock Against The Sky Proclaimed The Time Was Neither Wrong Nor Right.

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.

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.

I Have Remained Resentful To This Day When Any But Myself Presumed To Say That There Was Anything I Couldn't Be.

The Truly Educated Can Listen To Any View Without Losing Their Temper Or Self-confidence.

Self Confidence

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

The Reason Why Worry Kills More People Than Work Is That More People Worry Than Work.

The Only Way Out Is To Go Through

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.

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

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.

I Write To Find Out What I Didn't Know I Knew.

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.

Democracy Is The Best Chance For The Best People.

You Can't Get Too Much Winter In The Winter.

The Sidelong Glance Is What You Depend On.

I Own I Never Really Warmed To The Reformer Or Reformed. And Yet Conversion Has Its Place Not Halfway Down The Scale Of Grace.

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

Funny Inspirational

A Bank Is A Place Where They Lend You An Umbrella In Fair Weather And Ask For It Back When It Begins To Rain.

The Beauty Of Enmity Is Insecurity; The Beauty Of Friendship Is In Security.

One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.

Poetry Is A Reaching Out Forward Expression, An Effort To Find Fulfillment

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

I See For Nature No Defeat In One Tree's Overthrow Or For Myself In My Retreat For Yet Another Blow.

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

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

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

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

I Believe In Teaching, But I Don’t Believe In Going To School.

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.

Let Me Be The One To Do What Is Done.

A Successful Lawsuit Is The One Worn By A Policeman.

The Chance Is The Remotest, Of Its Going Much Longer Unnoticed, That I'm Not Keeping Pace With The Headlong Human Race

Poetry Is The Renewal Of Words, Setting Them Free, And That's What A Poet Is Doing: Loosening The Words.

Affection Is An Overpowering Craving To Be Compellingly Sought.

I Often Say Of George Washington That He Was One Of The Few In The Whole History Of The World Who Was Not Carried Away By Power.

I Have Been One Acquainted With The Night. I Have Walked Out In Rain - And Back In Rain. I Have Outwalked The Furthest City Light. I Have Looked Down The Saddest City Lane. I Have Passed By The Watchman On His Beat And Dropped My Eyes, Unwilling To Explain.

Far More Violence Has Been Done In Obeying The Law Than In Breaking The Law.

I Have Wished A Bird Would Fly Away, And Not Sing By My House All Day.

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

Nature's First Green Is Gold, Her Hardest Hue To Hold. Her Early Leaf's A Flower; But Only So An Hour. Then Leaf Subsides To Leaf. So Eden Sank To Grief, So Dawn Goes Down To Day. Nothing Gold Can Stay.

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat; A Homesickness Or A Love Sickness. It Is A Reaching-out Toward Expression; An Effort To Find Fulfillment. A Complete Poem Is One Where An Emotion Has Found Its Thought And The Thought Has Found Words.

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

Human Condition

All Great Things Are Done For Their Own Sake.

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

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.

Now Close The Windows And Hush All The Fields: If The Trees Must, Let Them Silently Toss.

The Difference Between A Job And A Career Is The Difference Between Forty And Sixty Hours A Week.

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.

Only God And I Knew What I Meant When I Wrote It, Now Only God Knows

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