You can be a rank insider as well as a rank outsider.
I would not come in. I meant not even if asked, And I hadn't been.
The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.
For I have had too much Of apple-picking:I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired.
The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.
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?
Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.
Everything written is as good as it is dramatic. It need not declare itself in form, but it is drama or nothing.
Poetry should be common in experience but uncommon in books.
The best thing we're put here for's to see; The strongest thing that's given us to see with's a telescope. Someone in every town, seems to me, owes it to the town to keep one.
Affection is an overpowering craving to be compellingly sought.
We're either nothing or a God's regret.
What is this talked-of mystery of birth. But being mounted bareback on the earth?
Nature's first green is gold.
The chance is the remotest, Of its going much longer unnoticed, That I'm not keeping pace With the headlong human race
Don't join too many gangs. Join few if any. Join the United States and join the family- But not much in between unless a college.
To Time it never seems that he is brave To set himself against the peaks of snow To lay them level with the running wave, Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low, But only grave, contemplative and grave.
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.
The greatest thing in family life is to take a hint when a hint is intended-and not to take a hint when a hint isn't intended.
Style is that which indicates how the writer takes himself and what he is saying. It is the mind skating circles around itself as it moves forward.
Yes, and even for the past...that it will turn out to have been all right for what it was. Something I can accept. Mistakes made by the self I had to be or was not able to be.
A poet must never make a statement simply because it sounds poetically exciting; he must also believe it to be true." - W. H. Auden "A poem...begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness...It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Ants are a curious race
Not to sink under being man and wife, But get some color and music out of life?
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
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