Robert Frost Quotes About Love
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Love has earth to which she clings.
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There is no love. There's only love of men and women, love Of children, love of friends, of men, of God: Divine love, human love, parental love, Roughly discriminated for the rough.
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The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.
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Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.
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How many things have to happen to you before something occurs to you?
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Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air.
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Before I built a wall I'd ask to know what I was walling in or walling out.
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My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
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loosely bound By countless silken ties of love and thought To everything on earth the compass round
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Yet some say Love by being thrall And simply staying possesses all In several beauty that Thought fares far To find fused in another star.
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And were an epitaph to be my story I'd have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world.
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Summary riposte To the dreary wail There's no knowing what Love is all about. Poets know a lot.
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You know how cunningly mankind is planned: We have one loving and one hating hand. The loving's made to hold each other like, While with the hating other hand we strike.
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Lord, I have loved Your sky, Be it said against or for me, Have loved it clear and high, Or low and stormy...
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You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father s. He's more particular. The father is always a Republican towards his son, and his mother's always a Democrat.
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But strictly held by none, is loosely bound By countless silken ties of love and thought To everything on earth the compass round, And only by one's going slightly taut In the capriciousness of summer air Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
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It should be of the pleasure of a poem itself to tell how it can. The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom. The figure is the same for love.
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But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.
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Let those possess the land, and only those, Who love it with a love so strong and stupid That they may be abused and taken advantage of And made fun of by business, law, and art.
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
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Suddenly, quietly, you realize that - from this moment forth - you will no longer walk through this life alone. Like a new sun this awareness arises within you, freeing you from fear, opening your life. It is the beginning of love, and the end of all that came before.
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Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.
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Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?
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A poet never takes notes. You never take notes in a love affair.
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Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves.
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Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.
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Something there is that doesn't love a wall, and wants it down.
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We love the things we love for what they are.
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Thinking is not to agree or disagree. That's voting.
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I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate wilfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better.
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