What did Robert Frost mean by: The trees that have it in their pent-up buds To darken nature and be summer woods. - Robert Frost Poet · USA Copy
+ The middle of the road is where the white line is – and that’s the worst place to drive. Feraz Zeid, June 8, 2023December 29, 2023, Robert Frost, Driving, Road, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
+ I have wished a bird would fly away, And not sing by my house all day. Feraz Zeid, December 22, 2023January 10, 2024, Robert Frost, Bird, Fly Away, House, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
+ Courage is in the air in bracing whiffs Better than all the stalemate an’s and ifs. Feraz Zeid, December 22, 2023January 10, 2024, Robert Frost, Air, Courage, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
+ Poets like Shakespeare know more about poetry than any $25 an hour man. Feraz Zeid, December 22, 2023January 10, 2024, Robert Frost, Hours, Poet, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
+ And nothing to look backward to with pride, and nothing to look forward to with hope. Feraz Zeid, December 22, 2023January 10, 2024, Robert Frost, Failure, Hope, Pride, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
+ A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. Feraz Zeid, May 27, 2023January 10, 2024, Robert Frost, Longing, Love, Sad, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
+ The Moon for all her light and grace Has never learned to know her place. Feraz Zeid, December 22, 2023January 10, 2024, Robert Frost, Grace, Light, Moon, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
+ There are few sorrows, however poignant, in which a good income is of no avail. Feraz Zeid, December 22, 2023January 10, 2024, Robert Frost, Money, Success, 0 - Robert Frost Poet · USA
Youth, art, love, dreams, true-heartedness – why must they go out of the summer world into darkness? - Willa Cather Author
We thread our way through a moving forest of ice-cream cones and crimson thighs. - Jean-Dominique Bauby Journalist · France
To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June Explain - Jean-Paul Sartre Philosopher · France
One benefit of Summer was that each day we had more light to read by. - Jeannette Walls Journalist · USA
That was the summer of 1963, when everybody called me ‘Baby,’ and it didn’t occur to me to mind. - Jennifer Grey
A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors. - Matsuo Basho Poet · Japan
