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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.

-Robert Frost

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The Poet, As Everyone

Robert Frost

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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.

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More From Robert Frost

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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?

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

Don't Join Too Many Gangs. Join Few If Any. Join The United States And Join The Family- But Not Much In Between Unless A College.

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

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.

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

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

Beginnings And Ends

Beginning Middle And End

Goodbye My Love

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

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.

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

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.

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

If One By One We Counted People Out

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

End Is A Gloomy Word.

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

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

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

Poetry Is A Way Of Taking Life By The Throat.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat

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.

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

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

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

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

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

We Love The Things We Love For What They Are.

Inspirational Love

Earth's The Right Place For Love. I Don't Know Where It's Likely To Go Better.

Men Work Together, Whether They Work Together Or Apart.

Working Together

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

We Ran As If To Meet The Moon.

What We Live By We Die By.

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.

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."

Writing A Poem Is Discovering.

It's Hard To Get Into This World And Hard To Get Out Of It, And What's In Between Doesn't Make Much Sense.

I Have Miles To Go Before I Sleep.

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

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.

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

I Never Dared To Be Radical When Young For Fear It Would Make Me Conservative When Old.

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

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

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

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.

How Many Things Have To Happen To You Before Something Occurs To You?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

If Society Fits You Comfortably Enough, You Call It Freedom.

When I See Birches Bend To Left And Right... I Like To Think Some Boy's Been Swinging Them.

The Test Is Always How We Treat The Poor.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

Ants Are A Curious Race

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

Best Is Yet To Come

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?

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

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

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.

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

I Hold It To Be The Inalienable Right Of Anybody To Go To Hell In His Own Way.

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.

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

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

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

Heaven Gives Its Glimpses Only To Those Not In Position To Look Too Close.

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

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.

To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

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?

By Working Faithfully Eight Hours A Day You May Eventually Get To Be Boss And Work Twelve Hours A Day.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

You Don't Have To Deserve Your Mother's Love. You Have To Deserve Your Father's.

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.

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

The Only Certain Freedom's In Departure.

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

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.

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

Uncomfortable Feeling

Pressed Into Service Means Pressed Out Of Shape.

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.

I Am One Who Has Been Acquainted With The Night

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

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?

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

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.

The City Is All Right. To Live In One Is To Be Civilized, Stay Up And Read Or Sing And Dance All Night And See Sunrise By Waiting Up Instead Of Getting Up.

I Play Better Tennis Because The Court Is There.

There Is No Love. There's Only Love Of Men And Women, Love Of Children, Love Of Friends, Of Men, Of God: Divine Love, Human Love, Parental Love, Roughly Discriminated For The Rough.

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

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.

Don't Be Agnostic - Be Something.

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

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.

Love Has Earth To Which She Clings.

... 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 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.

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.

There Is Little Much Beyond The Grave, But The Strong Are Saying Nothing Until They See.

Nature Is Always Hinting At Us. It Hints Over And Over Again. And Suddenly We Take The Hint.

Space Ails Us Moderns: We Are Sick With Space.

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

I'm Not A Teacher, But An Awakener.

The Snake Stood Up For Evil In The Garden.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

A Definite Purpose, Like Blinders On A Horse, Inevitably Narrows Its Possessor's Point Of View.

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

There Is Much In Nature Against Us. But We Forget: Take Nature Altogether Since Time Began, Including Human Nature, In Peace And War, And It Must Be A Little More In Favor Of Man.

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

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

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

Human Condition

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 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.

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

... 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.

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

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.

Nature Is Always Hinting At Us.

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

Don't Be An Agnostic. Be Something.

The Only Way Out Is Through.

Christian Inspirational

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

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

I Never Feel More At Home Than At A Ballgame.

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.

Freedom Lies In Being Bold.

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

The Sidelong Glance Is What You Depend On.

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.

As For His Evil Tidings, Belshazzar's Overthrow, Why Hurry To Tell Belshazzar What Soon Enough He Would Know?

Let Me Be The One To Do What Is Done.

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

Here Are Your Waters And Your Watering Place. Drink And Be Whole Again Beyond Confusion.

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

The Only Way Round Is Through.

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

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

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.

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

Create And Stir Other People To Create.

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

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

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

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

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

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