I Am One Who Has Been Acquainted

Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know. His House Is In The Village Though; He Will Not See Me Stopping Here To Watch His Woods Fill Up With Snow.

Nothing Is Quite Honest That Is Not Commercial, But Not Everything Commercial Is Honest.

An Idea Is A Feat Of Association, And The Height Of It Is A Good Metaphor.

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose, And The Pear Is, And So's The Plum, I Suppose. The Dear Only Knows What Will Next Prove A Rose. You, Of Course, Are A Rose - But Were Always A Rose.

Poetry Is Play. I'd Even Rather Have You Think Of It As A Sport. For Instance, Like Football.