Robert Frost

Everything written is as good as it is dramatic. It need not declare itself in form, but it is drama or nothing.

The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.

I'm always saying something that's just the edge of something more.

Do you know, Considering the market, there are more Poems produced than any other thing? No wonder poets sometimes have to seem So much more businesslike than businessmen. Their wares are so much harder to get rid of.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart

The best way out is always through.

An idea is a feat of association.

Freud was way off base in considering sex the fundamental motivation. The ruling passion in men is minding each other's business.

I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.

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.

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.

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.

Life must be kept up at a great rate in order to absorb any considerable amount of learning.

The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to the ocean- Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.

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.

Poets need not go to Niagara to write about the force of falling water.

When I see birches bend to left and right... I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

I still say the only education worth anything is self-education.

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?