Poetry is about the grief. Politics is about the grievance.
ROBERT FROSTThere 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.
More Robert Frost Quotes
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The test is always how we treat the poor.
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I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way.
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Take care to sell your horse before he dies. The art of life is passing losses on.
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The old dog barks backward without getting up I can remember when he was a pup.
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Have courage and a little willingness to venture and be defeated.
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If you’re looking for something to be brave about, consider fine arts.
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How many things would you attempt if you knew you could not fail.
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We dance around in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows.
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A bank is a place where they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and ask for it back when it begins to rain.
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The only certain freedom’s in departure.
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We love the things we love for what they are.
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Good fences make good neighbors.
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Nothing can make injustice just but mercy.
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It’s a funny thing that when a man hasn’t anything on earth to worry about, he goes off and gets married.
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Life must be kept up at a great rate in order to absorb any considerable amount of learning.
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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.
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Many lovers have been divorced By having what is free enforced.
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The artist in me cries out for design.
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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.
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What we live by we die by.
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Here are your waters and your watering place. Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.
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There is absolutely no reason for being rushed along with the rush. Everybody should be free to go slow.
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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.
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What is done is done for the love of it – or not really done at all.
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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
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The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.
ROBERT FROST