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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 (p. 64)

-Robert Frost

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Keats Mourned That The

Robert Frost

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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 (p. 64)

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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.

What Are We? Young Or New? We Must Be Something.

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

Self Confidence

I Cut My Own Hair. I Got Sick Of Barbers Because They Talk Too Much. And Too Much Of Their Talk Was About My Hair Coming Out.

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

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

You Can Be A Little Ungrammatical If You Come From The Right Part Of The Country.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

What Is Done Is Done For The Love Of It- Or Not Really Done At All.

Let Those Possess The Land, And Only Those, Who Love It With A Love So Strong And Stupid That They May Be Abused And Taken Advantage Of And Made Fun Of By Business, Law, And Art.

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

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.

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

Possessing What We Still Were Unpossessed By, Possessed By What We Now No More Possessed.

We Disparage Reason. But All The Time It's What We're Most Concerned With. There's Will As Motor And There's Will As Brakes. Reason Is, I Suppose, The Steering Gear.

Love Has Earth To Which She Clings.

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

Love Is An Irresistible Desire To Be Irresistibly Desired.

Nature's First Green Is Gold.

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

Yes, Of Course [this Age] Is Materialistic, But The Only Way To Counteract It Is To Create Spiritual Things. Don't Worry Yourself About The Materialism Too Much. Create And Stir Other People To Create!

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.

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.

You Can't Trust God To Be Unmerciful. There You Have The Beginning Of All Wisdom.

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.

The Worst Disease Which Can Afflict Executives In Their Work Is Not, As Popularly Supposed, Alcoholism; It's Egotism.

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

I Have Just Been To A City In The West, A City Full Of Poets, A City They Have Made Safe For Poets. The Whole City Is So Lovely That You Do Not Have To Write It Up To Make It Poetry; It Is Ready-made For You. But, I Don't Know - The Poetry Written In That City Might Not Seem Like Poetry If Read Outside Of The City. It Would Be Like The Jokes Made When You Were Drunk; You Have To Get Drunk Again To Appreciate Them.

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

'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.

I Am Not A Teacher. I Am An Awakener.

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.

I Always Entertain Great Hopes.

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.

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

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.

An Idea Is A Feat Of Association, And The Height Of It Is A Good Metaphor.

Out Alone In The Winter Rain, / Intent On Giving And Taking Pain.

You Have Freedom When You're Easy In Your Harness.

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

Any Eye Is An Evil Eye That Looks In On To A Mood Apart.

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.

Tolerance Is The Uncomfortable Feeling That In The End The Other Could Be Right.

Uncomfortable Feeling

The First Thing I Do In Any Town I Come To Is Ask If It Has A Bookstore.

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

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

A Man Has Got To Keep His Extrication. The Important Thing Is Not To Get Bogged Down In What He Has To Do To Earn A Living.

Sarcastic Science, She Would Like To Know, In Her Complacent Ministry Of Fear, How We Propose To Get Away From Here When She Has Made Things So We Have To Go Or Be Wiped Out. Will She Be Asked To Show Us How By Rocket We May Hope To Steer To Some Star Off There, Say, A Half Light-year Through Temperature Of Absolute Zero? Why Wait For Science To Supply The How When Any Amateur Can Tell It Now? The Way To Go Away Should Be The Same As Fifty Million Years Ago We Came- If Anyone Remembers How That Was I Have A Theory, But It Hardly Does.

One Age Is Like Another For The Soul.

Nothing Gold Can Stay.

The Only Way Out Is Through.

Christian Inspirational

It Was Far In The Sameness Of The Wood; I Was Running With Joy On The Demon's Trail, Though I Knew What I Hunted Was No True God.

In Spring More Mortal Singers Than Belong To Any One Place Cover Us With Song. Thrush, Bluebird, Blackbird, Sparrow, And Robin Throng.

You're Always Believing Ahead Of Your Evidence. What Was The Evidence I Could Write A Poem? I Just Believed It. The Most Creative Thing In Us Is To Believe In A Thing.

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

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

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

Monarch Butterfly

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

When I Was Young My Teachers Were The Old. I Gave Up Fire For Form Till I Was Cold.

If We Couldn't Laugh We Would All Go Insane.

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.

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

People Who Read Me Seem To Be Divided Into Four Groups: Twenty-five Percent Like Me For The Right Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Like Me For The Wrong Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Hate Me For The Wrong Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Hate Me For The Right Reasons. It's That Last Twenty-five Percent That Worries Me.

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

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Thy Leaves Have Ripened To The Fall; Tomorrow's Wind, If It Be Wild, Should Waste Them All. The Crows Above The Forest Call; Tomorrow They May Form And Go. O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow. Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief. Hearts Not Averse To Being Beguiled, Beguile Us In The Way You Know. Release One Leaf At Break Of Day; At Noon Release Another Leaf; One From Our Trees, One Far Away.

A Bird Half Wakened In The Lunar Noon Sang Halfway Through Its Little Inborn Tune.

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.

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

Our Very Life Depends On Everything's Recurring Till We Answer From Within.

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

Funny Inspirational

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

I'd Like To Go By Climbing A Birch Tree~ And Climb Black Branches Up A Snow-white Trunk Toward Heaven, Till The Tree Could Bear No More, But Dipped Its Top And Set Me Down Again. That Would Be Good Both Going And Coming Back. One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.

My Long Two-pointed Ladder's Sticking Through A Tree Toward Heaven Still, And There's A Barrel That I Didn't Fill Beside It, And There May Be Two Or Three Apples I Didn't Pick Upon Some Bough. But I Am Done With Apple-picking Now. Essence Of Winter Sleep Is On The Night, The Scent Of Apples: I Am Drowsing Off.

Earth Would Soon Be Uninhabitable As The Moon. What For That Matter Had It Ever Been? Who Advised Man To Come And Live Therein?

What You Want, What You're Hanging Around In The World Waiting For, Is For Something To Occur To You.

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

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)

In Three Words I Can Sum Up Everything I've Learned About Life: It Goes On.

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

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

I Dwell In A Lonely House I Know That Vanished Many A Summer Ago.

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

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?

Life Is Tons Of Discipline. Your First Discipline Is Your Vocabulary; Then Your Grammar And Your Punctuation

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

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

All The Fun Is In How You Say A Thing.

The Brain Is A Wonderful Organ; It Starts Working The Moment You Get Up In The Morning And Does Not Stop Until You Get Into The Office.

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.

Most Of The Change We Think We See In Life Is Due To Truths Being In And Out Of Favor.

The Best Thing We're Put Here For's To See; The Strongest Thing That's Given Us To See With's A Telescope. Someone In Every Town, Seems To Me, Owes It To The Town To Keep One.

I'm Not A Teacher, But An Awakener.

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day. When The Sun Is Out And The Wind Is Still, You're One Month On In The Middle Of May. But If You So Much As Dare To Speak, A Cloud Come Over The Sunlit Arch, And Wind Comes Off A Frozen Peak, And You're Two Months Back In The Middle Of March.

We Love The Things We Love For What They Are.

Inspirational Love

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

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

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

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.

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."

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.

Come Grow Old With Me, For The Best Is Yet To Come!

Best Is Yet To Come

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

Freedom Is When You Are Easy In The Harness.

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

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

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.

Humor Is The Most Engaging Cowardice.

A Turning Point In Modern History.

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

The Only Certain Freedom's In Departure.

The Only Way Round Is Through.

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

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

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

Ants Are A Curious Race

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.

College Is A Refuge From Hasty Judgment.

One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.

Hell Is A Half-filled Auditorium.

Poetry Is A Way Of Taking Life By The Throat.

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

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

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

Create And Stir Other People To Create.

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 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.

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.

The Line-storm Clouds Fly Tattered And Swift, The Road Is Forlorn All Day, Where A Myriad Snowy Quartz Stones Lift, And The Hoof-prints Vanish Away. The Roadside Flowers, Too Wet For The Bee, Expend Their Bloom In Vain. Come Over The Hills And Far With Me, And Be My Love In The Rain.

I Am One Who Has Been Acquainted With The Night

The Afternoon Knows What The Morning Never Suspected.

To Time It Never Seems That He Is Brave To Set Himself Against The Peaks Of Snow To Lay Them Level With The Running Wave, Nor Is He Overjoyed When They Lie Low, But Only Grave, Contemplative And Grave.

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.

An Idea Is A Feat Of Association.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A Poet Never Takes Notes. You Never Take Notes In A Love Affair.

Education Is Hanging Around Until You've Caught On.

Why Make So Much Of Fragmentary Blue In Here And There A Bird, Or Butterfly, Or Flower, Or Wearing-stone, Or Open Eye, When Heaven Presents In Sheets The Solid Hue?

God Turned To Speak To Me (don't Anybody Laugh); God Found I Wasn't There At Least Not Over Half.

Leaves And Bark, Leaves And Bark, To Lean Against And Hear In The Dark. Petals I May Have Once Pursued. Leaves Are All My Darker Mood.

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

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

I Never Feel More At Home Than At A Ballgame.

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

The Woods Are Lovely, Dark, And Deep But I Have Promises To Keep...

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.

There Are Tones Of Voices That Mean More Than Words.

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

Human Condition

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

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.

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

I Have Stood Still And Stopped The Sound Of Feet When Far Away An Interrupted Cry Came Over Houses From Another Street, But Not To Call Me Back Or Say Good-bye.

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

When Clever People Ask Me Where I Get A Poem, I Despair.

Oh, Give Us Pleasure In The Flowers To-day; And Give Us Not To Think So Far Away As The Uncertain Harvest; Keep Us Here All Simply In The Springing Of The Year. Oh, Give Us Pleasure In The Orchard White, Like Nothing Else By Day, Like Ghosts By Night; And Make Us Happy In The Happy Bees, The Swarm Dilating Round The Perfect Trees.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Memory Of Having Starred Atones For Later Disregard, Or Keeps The End From Being Hard.

Fortunately, We Don't Need To Know How Bad An Age Is. There Is Something We Can Always Be Doing Without Reference To How Good Or Bad The Age Is.

Democracy Is The Best Chance For The Best People.

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.

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

Poets Are Like Baseball Pitchers. Both Have Their Moments. The Intervals Are The Tough Things.

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

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

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.

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Anything More Than The Truth Would Have Seemed Too Weak.

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.

The Middle Of The Road Is Where The White Line Is - And That's The Worst Place To Drive.

To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Mind Your Own Business

Happiness Makes Up In Height For What It Lacks In Length.

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

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