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But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
be the wave that I am and then
sink back into the ocean.
We flock to the virtual because the real demands too much of us.
Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, “You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams.”
Said the leaf indignant, “Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing.”
Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again — and she was a blade of grass.
And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, “O these autumn leaves! They make such noise! They scatter all my winter dreams."
Under the burden of solitude,
under the burden of dissatisfaction
the weight, the weight we carry is love.
but a hammer with which to shape it.
no books have the spine to carry.