Quotes from Robert Frost

If I can with confidence say That still for another day, Or even another year, I will be there for you, my dear, It will be because, though small As measured against the All, I have been so instinctively thorough About my crevice and burrow.

So dawn goes down to day/ nothing gold can stay.

For to be social is to be forgiving.

All nature seems to weave a circle of / Enchantment round the mind, and give full sway / To flitting thoughts and dreams of bygone years.

The mountain pushed us off her knees. And now her lap is full of trees.

Spring is the mischief in me

I have been one acquainted with the night.

Come, be my love in the wet woods, come, Where the boughs rain when it blows.

Thou didst not know, who tottered, wandering on high That fate had made thee for the pleasure of the wind, With those great careless wings, Nor yet did I.

But no, I was out for stars; I would not come in. I meant not even if asked; And I hadn't been.

THE PASTURE I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha'n't be gone long. – You come too. I'm going out to fetch the little calf That's standing by the mother. It's so young, It totters when she licks it with her tongue. I sha'n't be gone long. – You come too.

For this is love and nothing else is love, The which it is reserved for God above To sanctify to what far ends He will, But which it only needs that we fulfil.

More than once I should have lost my soul to radicalism if it had been the originality it was mistaken for by its young converts.

Zdarzy?o mi si? niegdy? ujrze? w lesie rano dwie drogi: pojecha?em t? mniej ucz?szczan? - Reszta wzi??a si? z tego, ?e to j? wybra?em

And on the worn book of old-golden I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;

There ought to be a view around the world From such a mountain

The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question 'Whither?' Ah, when tot the heart of man Was it ever less than a teason to go with the drift of things, to yield with a grace to reason, and bow and accept and accept the end of a love or a season?

Spare me the setting of my fate to music.

Life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open.

Monotony? Have we not always had the same stars and the same sky above us, changing only in its shades of blue and gray and purple black? And who shall say that such themes are exhausted? Have we not always had love and passion, war and peace, summer and winter and spring and fall with us? And are these things unable longer to impel us to spiritual variations?

I am for the artist, who is more alone than he looks. I am not for the reformer, who is always active but usually has nothing to give. The real thing that you do is a lonely thing. And remember the paradox that you become more social in order that you may become more of an individual.

Unos dicen que el mundo sucumbirá en el fuego. Otros que en el hielo. Por lo que yo he probado del deseo, estoy a favor de los que apuestan por el fuego. Pero si por dos veces el mundo pereciera, creo saber suficiente sobre el odio, como para saber que para la destrucción, el hielo también es grande y sería suficiente.

Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air

A Time to Talk - 1874-1963 When a friend calls to me from the road And slows his horse to a meaning walk, I don't stand still and look around On all the hills I haven't hoed, And shout from where I am, What is it? No, not as there is a time to talk. I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground, Blade-end up and five feet tall, And plod: I go up to the stone wall For a friendly visit.