Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. – Robert Frost
My sorrow, when shes 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. – Robert Frost
I never dared to be radical when young for fear it would make me conservative when old. – Robert Frost
Be it deep or shallow, red or black, sand or clay, the soil is the link between the rock core of the earth and the living things on its surface. It is the foothold for the plants we grow. Therein lies the main reason for our interest in soils. – Roy Simonson, USDA Yearbook of Agriculture, 1957