You've got to be brave and you've got to be bold. Brave enough to take your chance on your own discrimination - what's right and what's wrong what's good and what's bad.
Never ask of money spent Where the spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant To remember or invent What he did with every cent.
But yield who will to their separation, My object in living is to uniteMy avocation and my vocationAs my two eyes make one in sight.
Where had I heard this wind beforeChange like this to a deeper roar?What would it take my standing there for,Holding open a restive door,Looking down hill to a frothy shore?Summer was past and day was...
For dear me, why abandon a beliefMerely because it ceases to be true
I'd like to get away from earth awhileAnd then come back to it and begin over.May no fate wilfully misunderstand meAnd half grant what I wish and snatch me awayNot to return. Earth's the right place f...
A Liberal is a man too broadminded to take his own side in a quarrel.
You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father's. He's more particular.
There is one thing more exasperating than a wife who can cook and won't, and that's a wife who can't cook and will.
No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.
A poem is never a put-up job, so to speak. It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is never a thought to begin with.
Home is the place when you have to go there they have to take you in.
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.
We dance round in a ring and suppose,But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.
And on the worn book of old-golden I brought not here to read, it seems, but holdAnd freshen in this air of withering sweetness;
I have been one acquainted with the night.I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.I have outwalked the furthest city light.I have looked down the saddest city lane.I have passed by the watchman o...
Fragmentary BlueWhy make so much of fragmentary blueIn here and there a bird, or butterfly,Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?Since earth is earth, p...
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloudAnd goes down burning into the gulf below,No voice in nature is heard to cry aloudAt what has happened. Birds, at least must knowIt is the change to darkn...
What is done is done for the love of it- or not really done at all.
The way a crowShook down on meThe dust of snowFrom a hemlock treeHas given my heartA change of moodAnd saved some partOf a day I had rued.