Good fences make good neighbors.
The line is the neighbour’s, not the poet’s: he repeats his father’s saying while the speaker wonders what the wall is walling in or out. The poem opens with the line “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall”.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, / They have to take you in.
The 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.
Nature’s first green is gold, / Her hardest hue to hold.
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.
A house divided against itself cannot stand.
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, / The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.