I was going to add this to the Kudos thread but thought it would be good to have a separate thread.
I loved this poem by Charlotte Perkins Gilman when I first read it and it seemed relevant to lots of things in life but now I have re-read it I think it is very relevant to PhD life. Hope you like it.

An Obstacle
Charlotte Perkins Gilman
(1860-1935)

I was climbing a mountain path
With many things to do,
Important business of my own,
And other people’s too,
When I ran against a Prejudice,
That quite cut off the view,
My work was such as could not wait,
My path quite clearly showed,
My strength and time were limited,
I carried quite a load,
And there that hulking Prejudice
Sat all across the road.
So I spoke to him politely,
For he was huge and high,
And begged that he would move a bit
And let me travel by.
He smiled, but as for moving! –
He didn’t even try.
And then I reasoned quietly
With that colossal mule:
My time was short—no other path—
The mountain winds were cool.
I argued like a Solomon,
He sat there like a fool.
Then I flew into a passion,
And I danced and howled and swore,
I pelted and belabored him
Till I was stiff and sore,
He got as mad as I did---
But he sat there as before.
And then I begged him on my knees,
I might be kneeling still
If so I hoped to move that mass
Of obdurate ill-will—
As well invite the monument
To vacate Bunker Hill!
So I sat before him helpless,
In an ecstasy of woe—
The mountain mists were rising fast,
The sun was sinking slow—
When a sudden inspiration came,
As sudden winds do blow.
I took my hat, I took my stick,
My load I settled fair,
I approached that awful incubus
Win an absent-minded air—
And I walked directly through him,
As if he wasn’t there!

a nice poem, PamW.

I sometimes feel like this poem by Yeats...

The Fascination of What's Difficult
William Butler Yeats
http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/The_Fascination.htm

The fascination of what's difficult
Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent
Spontaneous joy and natural content
Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt
That must, as if it had not holy blood
Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud,
Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt
As though it dragged road-metal. My curse on plays
That have to be set up in fifty ways,
On the day's war with every knave and dolt,
Theatre business, management of men.
I swear before the dawn comes round again
I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.