Robert Frost Love Quotations

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.

Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

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.

Don't ever take a fence down until you know why it was put up.

The middle of the road is where the white line is - and that's the worst place to drive.

It's a funny thing that when a man hasn't anything on earth to worry about, he goes off and gets married.

Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.

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.

A poet never takes notes. You never take notes in a love affair.

We love things we love what they are.

Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these She a window flower And he a winter breeze ...

Something there is that doesn't love a wall

This as it will be seen is other far / Than with brooks taken otherwhere in song. / We love the things we love for what they are.

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.

How many things have to happen to you before something occurs to you?

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know what I was walling in or walling out.

Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves.

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.

We love the things we love for what they are.

The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.

Thinking is not to agree or disagree. That's voting.

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

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?

I'm not confused. I'm just well mixed.

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.

Summary riposte To the dreary wail There's no knowing what Love is all about. Poets know a lot.

loosely bound By countless silken ties of love and thought To everything on earth the compass round

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....

Oh, come forth into the storm and rout And be my love in the rain.

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.

Love has earth to which she clings....

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.

Lord, I have loved Your sky, Be it said against or for me, Have loved it clear and high, Or low and stormy....

Earth's the right place for love. I don't know where it's likely to go better.

Ends and beginnings—there are no such things. There are only middles.

Love is an irresistable desire to be irresistably desired." "Poetry begins in delight and ends in wisdom.

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.

Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.

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.

Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air.

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.