Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
A liberal is a man too broadminded to take his own side in a quarrel.
The chance is the remotest, Of its going much longer unnoticed, That I'm not keeping pace With the headlong human race
I have miles to go before I sleep.
The reason why worry kills more people than work is that more people worry than work.