Robert Frost

(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)

Robert Frost Quotes

  • ''I was to taste in little the grief
    That comes of dogs' lives being so brief....''
    Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "One More Brevity."
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  • ''Poor egotist, he has no way of knowing
    But he's as good as anybody going.''
    Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. Ten Mills, "VI. Waspish."
  • ''Visions of half the world burned black
    And the sun shrunken yellow in smoke.''
    Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Gum-Gatherer."
  • ''What we live by we die by.''
    Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Self-Seeker."
  • ''What things for dream there are when specter-like,
    Moving among tall haycocks lightly piled,
    I enter alone upon the stubble field....''
    Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Waiting."
  • ''“In three words I can sum up everything Ive learned about life: it goes on.” ''
  • ''“These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.” ''
    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
  • ''“Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life; define yourself.” ''
  • ''“Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.” ''
  • ''“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.” ''

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Best Poem of Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come ...

Read the full of The Road Not Taken

After Apple Picking

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight

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