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.
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In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
— Robert Frost
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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
— Robert Frost
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These woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
— Robert Frost