Modern poets talk against business, poor things, but all of us write for money. Beginners are subjected to trial by market. – Robert Frost
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. – Robert Frost
Slave to a springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs. – Robert Frost
By working faithfully eight hours a day, you may get to be a boss and work twelve hours a day. – Robert Frost