Robert Frost

Love is the irresistable desire to be irresistably desired.

The way out is the way in.

I am sure I have heard this several times from places I can't recall, but it's not already in the Gaia Quotes database, so I add this profound insight from the fields of psychological healing and spiritual evolution. It sure has helped me.

Probable source: American poet Robert Frost who said what Tsuya posted below in her comment. And Howard Nemerov said the same thing in something he wrote, too. http://quotationsbook.com/quote/42777/

Time and tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of thirty.

The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

We dance around in a ring and suppose.
But the secret sits in the middle and knows.

Two paths diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

An idea comes as close to something for nothing as you can get.

The Sound of the Trees "wonderful poem" (Transition)

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? We suffer them by the day Till we lose all measure of pace, And fixity in our joys, And acquire a listening air. They are that that talks of going But never gets away; And that talks no less for knowing, As it grows wiser and older, That now it means to stay. My feet tug at the floor And my head sways to my shoulder Sometimes when I watch trees sway, From the window or the door. I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some day when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on. I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone.

Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length.

Poetry is about the grief.  Politics is about the grievance.