He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
Category Archive: Emily Dickinson
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.
Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon.
I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one’s hopes in a pile of broken crockery.
It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.