Robert Lee Frost, born March 26, 1874, San Francisco, California, U.S., died January 29, 1963, Boston, Massachusetts. American poet who was much admired for his depictions of the rural life of New England, his command of American colloquial speech, and his realistic verse portraying ordinary people in everyday situations.
Heaven gives its glimpses only to those Not in position to look too close
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference.
Pressed into service means pressed out of shape.
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.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars- on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home To scare myself with my own desert places.
The best way out is always through.
Always fall in with what you're asked to accept. Take what is given, and make it over your way. My aim in life has always been to hold my own with whatever's going. Not against: with.
