Robert Frost
Robert Frost
Robert Lee Frostwas an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in America. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of the twentieth century, Frost was honored frequently...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth26 March 1874
CitySan Francisco, CA
CountryUnited States of America
Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these She a window flower And he a winter breeze ...
Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.
Poetry is what gets lost in translation. It is also what is lost in interpretation.
I shall be telling this with a sigh - Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference
Thinking is not to agree or disagree. That is voting.
An earthly dog of the carriage breed; Who, having failed of the modern speed, Now asked asylum and I was stirred To be the one so dog-preferred
Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year.
A man will sometimes devote all his life to the development of one part of his body -- the wishbone.
You're searching, Joe, for things that don't exist; I mean beginnings. Ends and beginnings -- there are no such things. There are only middles.
Style is the mind skating circles around itself as it moves forward
Something there is that doesn't love a wall
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.
No wonder poets sometimes have to seem/ So much more business-like than business men./ Their wares are so much harder to get rid of.