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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.

-Robert Frost

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Our Life Runs Down

Robert Frost

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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.

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Nature Is Always Hinting At Us.

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.

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

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.

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

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 Style Is The Man. Rather Say The Style Is The Way The Man Takes Himself; And To Be At All Charming Or Even Bearable, The Way Is Almost Rigidly Prescribed. If It Is With Outer Seriousness, It Must Be With Inner Humor. If It Is With Outer Humor, It Must Be With Inner Seriousness. No Other Way Will Do.

The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom... In A Clarification Of Life - Not Necessarily A Great Clarification, Such As Sects And Cults Are Founded On, But In A Momentary Stay Against Confusion.

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.

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.

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.

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

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat

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.

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

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

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

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

For Dear Me, Why Abandon A Belief Merely Because It Ceases To Be True

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

The Best Way For A Person To Have Happy Thoughts Is To Count His Blessings And Not His Cash. Happiness Makes Up In Height For What It Lacks In Length.

The Only Way Out Is To Go Through

I Have Been One Acquainted With The Night. I Have Walked Out In Rain - And Back In Rain. I Have Out Walked 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. 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; And Further Still At An Unearthly Light, One Luminary Clock Against The Sky Proclaimed The Time Was Neither Wrong Nor Right. I Have Been One Acquainted With The Night.

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

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.

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

Human Condition

Life Is Tons Of Discipline.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

Anything More Than The Truth Would Have Seemed Too Weak.

The Artist In Me Cries Out For Design.

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.

The Way A Crow Shook Down On Me The Dust Of Snow From A Hemlock Tree Has Given My Heart A Change Of Mood And Saved Some Part Of A Day I Had Rued.

A Poet Must Never Make A Statement Simply Because It Sounds Poetically Exciting; He Must Also Believe It To Be True." - W. H. Auden "a Poem...begins As A Lump In The Throat, A Sense Of Wrong, A Homesickness, A Lovesickness...it Finds The Thought And The Thought Finds The Words.

To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

The Only Certain Freedom's In Departure.

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.

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.

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

Memento Mori And Obey The Lord. Art And Religion Love The Somber Chord.

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

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 Those Who Try To Go It Sole Alone, Too Proud To Be Beholden For Relief, Are Absolutely Sure To Come To Grief.

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.

Don't Be Agnostic - Be Something.

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

End Is A Gloomy Word.

Education Is The Ability To Listen To Almost Anything Without Losing Your Temper Or Your Self-confidence.

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

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

Summary Riposte To The Dreary Wail There's No Knowing What Love Is All About. Poets Know A Lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

(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.

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

Funny Inspirational

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

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

There Would Be More Than Ocean-water Broken Before God's Last Put Out The Light Was Spoken.

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.

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.

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

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

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Mind Your Own Business

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.

Poetry Should Be Common In Experience But Uncommon In Books.

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.

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.

The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

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.

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.

Love Has Earth To Which She Clings.

The People I Am Most Afraid Of Are Those Who Are The Most Afraid.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

There Are Few Sorrows, However Poignant, In Which A Good Income Is Of No Avail.

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

What Is Required Is Sight And Insight- Then You Might Add One More: Excite.

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?

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

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

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.

The Heart Can Think Of No Devotion Greater Than Being Shore To The Ocean- Holding The Curve Of One Position, Counting An Endless Repetition.

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.

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

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

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?

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.

The Snake Stood Up For Evil In The Garden.

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.

Families Break Up When They Get Hints You Don't Intend And Miss Hints That You Do.

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.

The Strongest And Most Effective Force In Guaranteeing The Long-term Maintenance Of Power Is Not Violence In All The Forms Deployed By The Dominant To Control The Dominated, But Consent In All The Forms In Which The Dominated Acquiesce In Their Own Domination.

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

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

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

If One By One We Counted People Out

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.

The Truth Is The River Flows Into The Canyon Of Ceasing-to-question-what-doesn't-concern-us, As Sooner Or Later We Have To Cease Somewhere.

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

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.

Loosely Bound By Countless Silken Ties Of Love And Thought To Everything On Earth The Compass Round

Create And Stir Other People To Create.

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

And Nothing To Look Backward To With Pride, And Nothing To Look Forward To With Hope.

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.

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

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

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

There Is The Fear That We Shan't Prove Worthy In The Eyes Of Someone Who Knows Us At Least As Well As We Know Ourselves. That Is The Fear Of God. And There Is The Fear Of Man -fear That Men Won't Understand Us And We Shall Be Cut Of From Them.

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

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

But Not Gold In Commercial Quantities, Just Enough Gold To Make The Engagement Rings And Marriage Rings Of Those Who Owned The Farm. What Gold More Innocent Could One Have Asked For?

Diplomacy, N : 1. The Patriotic Art Of Lying For One's Country. 2. The Art Of Letting Someone Have Your Way. 3. The Art Of Saying 'nice Doggy' Until You Can Find A Rock. A Diplomat Is A Man Who Always Remembers A Woman's Birthday But Never Remembers Her Age.

Ends And Beginningsthere Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

Beginnings And Ends

Beginning Middle And End

Goodbye My Love

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

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

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

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

There Are Two Kinds Of Teachers: The Kind That Fill You With So Much Quail Shot That You Can't Move, And The Kind That Just Gives You A Little Prod Behind And You Jump To The Skies.

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.

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.

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

All The Fun Is In How You Say A Thing.

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

Than Smoke And Mist Who Better Could Appraise The Kindred Spirit Of An Inner Haze?

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

Self Confidence

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

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.

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

The Tree The Tempest With A Crash Of Wood Throws Down In Front Of Us Is Not To Bar Our Passage To Our Journey's End For Good, But Just To Ask Us Who We Think We Are.

But I Have Promises To Keep, And Miles To Go Before I Sleep, And Miles To Go Before I Sleep.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

I Am Not A Teacher. I Am An Awakener.

Love At The Lips Was Touch As Sweet As I Could Bear; And Once That Seemed Too Much; I Lived On Air.

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

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

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

I Have Miles To Go Before I Sleep.

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

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

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

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

I Never Take My Own Side In A Quarrel.

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

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

What We Live By We Die By.

Let Me Be The One To Do What Is Done.

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

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

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

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

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.

The Afternoon Knows What The Morning Never Suspected.

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

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

Uncomfortable Feeling

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

I Came From A Very Intellectual Neighborhood. When We Played Cowboys And Indians As Kids, I Had To Be Gandhi.

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.

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.

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

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

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow, Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief... Retard The Sun With Gentle Mist; Enchant The Land With Amethyst.

New Is A Word For Fools In Towns Who Think Style Upon Style In Dress And Thought At Last Must Get Somewhere.

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

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

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.

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

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

It Is Only A Moment Here And A Moment There That The Greatest Writer Has. Some Cognizance Of The Fact Must Be Taken In Your Teaching.

Writing A Poem Is Discovering.

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

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

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

The Chief Reason For Going To School Is To Get The Impression Fixed For Life That There Is A Book Side For Everything.

Space Ails Us Moderns: We Are Sick With Space.

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