If one by one we counted people out For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long To get so we had no one left to live with. For to be social is to be forgiving.
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.
I never knew what was meant by choice of words. It was one word or none.
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
What we live by we die by.
Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things.
Writing a poem is discovering.
Any work of art must first of all tell a story.
Life must be kept up at a great rate in order to absorb any considerable amount of learning.
Life is tons of discipline. Your first discipline is your vocabulary; then your grammar and your punctuation
You've often heard me say - perhaps too often - that poetry is what is lost in translation. It is also what is lost in interpretation. That little poem means just what it says and it says what it means, nothing less but nothing more.
Nothing gold can stay.
If you're looking for something to be brave about, consider fine arts.
I don't like to see things on purpose. I like them to soak in. A friend . . . asked me to go to the top of the Empire State Building once, and I told him that he shouldn't treat New York as a sight-it's feeling, an emotional experience. And the same with every place else.
Style is less the man than the way a man takes himself.
Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes the pressure off the second.
An idea is a feat of association, and the height of it is a good metaphor.
When I see birches bend to left and right... I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
Friends make pretence of following to the grave but before one is in it, their minds are turned and making the best of their way back to life and living people and things they understand.
The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to the ocean- Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.
I hope to leave behind a few poems it will be hard to get rid of.
You can't get too much winter in the winter.
As it is more blessed to receive, so it must be more blessed to receive than to give back.
The only way round is through.
There are three things, after all, that a poem must reach: the eye, the ear, and what we may call the heart or the mind. It is the most important of all to reach the heart of the reader.
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