Robert Frost Quotes

Delta Dawn, what's that flower you have on, could it be a faded rose from days gone by?

I know not which I love the most, Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet Or the royal-hearted rose: The pansy in purple dress, The pink with cheek of red, Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs, Like a bashful maid her head.

Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.

That is not a drug. It's a leaf.

I have loved flowers that fade,Within whose magic tentsRich hues have marriage madeWith sweet unmemoried scents:A honeymoon delight,A joy of love at sight,That ages in an hourMy song be like a flower!

If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.

There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.

What is poetry? Do not enquire. The secret dies by prying. How does the heart beat? I fainted when I saw it on the screen, opening and closing like a flower ... Poetry is like this, it is life moving, terrible, vivid. Look the other way when you write, or you might faint.

O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!

The groom is like a flower of gold. When he walks, blossoms at his feet unfold.

Is not this lily pure? What fuller can procure A white so perfect, spotless clear As in this flower doth appear?

I cannot help thinking that it is more natural to have flowers grow out of the head than fruit.

The rose has no 'Why?' It flowers because it flowers.

I am hidden in your heart, O Flower.

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.

Cerulean left. I wondered if she was from Flower Planet. Blue flowers were rare - one might take a name from that.

I have a friend who's an artist, and he sometimes takes a view which I don't agree with. He'll hold up a flower and say, "Look how beautiful it is," and I'll agree. But then he'll say, "I, as an artist, can see how beautiful a flower is. But you, as a scientist, take it all apart and it becomes dull." I think he's kind of nutty. [...] There are all kinds of interesting questions that come from a knowledge of science, which only adds to the excitement and mystery and awe of a flower. It only adds. I don't understand how it subtracts.

O, my luve is like a red, red rose.

So I said to myself-I'll paint what I see-what the flower is to me but I'll paint it big and they will be surprised into taking the time to look at it-I will make even busy New Yorkers take time to see what I see of flowers.

New rule: Tulips aren't flowers. They're some kind of gay onion.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.

He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors.

I sit before flowers 
hoping they will train me in the art 
of opening up