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How are we to write The Russian novel in America As long as life goes so unterribly?

Robert Frost

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Robert Frost
Age: 88 †
Born: 1874
Born: March 26
Died: 1963
Died: January 29
Pedagogue
Playwright
Poet
Writer
San Francisco County
California
Robert Lee Frost
Goes
Write
America
Writing
Long
Life
Russian
Novel

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Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear And once that seemed too much I lived on air.
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A turning point in modern history.
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Life is tons of discipline.
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A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
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We ran as if to meet the moon.
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One aged man - one man - can't fill a house.
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A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.
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I write to find out what I didn't know I knew.
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Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. . . . Read it a hundred times it will forever keep its freshness as a metal keeps its fragrance. It can never lose its sense of a meaning that once unfolded by surprise as it went.
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I only hope that when I am free, as they are free to go in quest, of the knowledge beyond the bounds of life, it may not seem better to me to rest.
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The style is the man. Rather say the style is the way the man takes himself and to be at all charming or even bearable, the way is almost rigidly prescribed. If it is with outer seriousness, it must be with inner humor. If it is with outer humor, it must be with inner seriousness. No other way will do.
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I wonder about the trees. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place?
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Hell is a half-filled auditorium.
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Education doesn't change life much. It just lifts trouble to a higher plane of regard.
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I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart
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Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes the pressure off the second.
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Summoning artists to participate In the august occasions of the state Seems something artists ought to celebrate. Today is for my cause a day of days.
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Let's get my incantation right: I wish I may, I wish I might Give earth another satellite.
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End is a gloomy word.
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No, in country money, the country scale of gain, The requisite lift of spirit has never been found.
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