Edwin Arlington Robinson

“Poetry is a language that tells us, through a more or less emotional reaction, something that cannot be said.”

“Life is the game that must be played.”

“And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.”

“I shall have more to say when I am dead.”

“The gift of God is a gift of fate.”

“We die of what we eat and drink, but more we die of what we think.”

“The flesh confines us, but we're not all flesh. There's something in us that is not of this world.”

“The world is not a prison house, but a kind of spiritual kindergarten where millions of bewildered infants are trying to spell God with the wrong blocks.”

“Miniver coughed, and called it fate, And kept on drinking.”

“There are two kinds of gratitude: the sudden kind we feel for what we take, and the larger kind we feel for what we give.”

“So on he fares, and speaks and sings, Of kings, and clowns, and useless things.”

“Because a man has a session of sincerity, do you think he is sincere?”

“Passion is a fever that leaves us weaker than it found us.”

“Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn, Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;”

“The master-pity murders mercy.”

“And we were singing; and the moon shone faint, And in the ancient elms, the wind was heard, Murmuring, as of a ghostly multitude.”