Robert Frost Quotes

But I may be one who does not care Ever to have tree bloom or bear.

Live and let live, believe and let believe. 'Twas said the lesser gods were only traits Of the one awful God. Just so the saints Are God's white light refracted into colors.

There would be more than ocean-water broken Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.

As for his evil tidings, Belshazzar's overthrow, Why hurry to tell Belshazzar What soon enough he would know?

Courage is of the heart by derivation, And great it is. But fear is of the soul.

If one by one we counted people out

I could define poetry this way: it is that which is lost out of both prose and verse in translation.

All those who try to go it sole alone, Too proud to be beholden for relief, Are absolutely sure to come to grief.

Something sinister in the tone Told me my secret must be known: Word I was in the house alone Somehow must have gotten abroad, Word I was in my life alone, Word I had no one left but God.

When I was young, I was so interested in baseball that my family was afraid I'd waste my life and be a pitcher. Later they were afraid I'd waste my life and be a poet. They were right.

Oh, come forth into the storm and rout And be my love in the rain.

I believe in teaching, but I don’t believe in going to school.

He thought that I was after him for a feather--- The white one in his tail: like one who takes everything said as personal to himself.

What are we? Young or new? We must be something.

Some spirit to stand simply forth, Heroic in its nakedness, Against the uttermost of earth.

The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.

You, of course, are a rose-- But were always a rose.

We're either nothing or a God's regret.

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.

It takes all sorts of in and outdoor schooling To get adapted to my kind of fooling.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile / And then come back to it and begin over.

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away / You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

I hate the idea that you ought to read the whole of anybody.

A true sonnet goes eight lines and then takes a turn for better or worse and goes six or eight lines more.

Let me be the one To do what is done.

Before now poetry has taken notice Of wars, and what are wars but politics Transformed from chronic to acute and bloody?

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

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.

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

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.

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.

Poetry is a reaching out forward expression, an effort to find fulfillment

The nearest friends can go With anyone to death, comes so far short They might as well not try to go at all.

The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.

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?

You can be a rank insider as well as a rank outsider.

A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried into being.

My definition of poetry (if I were forced to give one) would be this: words that have become deeds.

Pressed into service means pressed out of shape.

I never feel more at home than at a ballgame.

Poetry is play. I'd even rather have you think of it as a sport. For instance, like football.

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.

In heaven we are all ghostwriters, if we write at all.

Both T.S. Eliot and I like to play, but I like to play euchre, while he likes to play Eucharist.

When I was young my teachers were the old. I gave up fire for form till I was cold.

The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength. To feel the earth as rough to all my length

I am one who has been acquainted with the night

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

What an exciting age it is we live in With all this talk about the hope of youth And nothing made of youth.

I own I never really warmed To the reformer or reformed. And yet conversion has its place Not halfway down the scale of grace.