I hate the idea that you ought to read the whole of anybody.

I have miles to go before I sleep.

You, of course, are a rose-- But were always a rose.

Education is hanging around until you've caught on.

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away / You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

I am a writer of books in retrospect. I talk in order to understand; I teach in order to learn.

But strictly held by none, is loosely bound By countless silken ties of love and thought To everything on earth the compass round, And only by one's going slightly taut In the capriciousness of summer air Is of the slightest bondage made aware.