Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops read more

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of read more

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

If it wasn't for dogs, some people would never go for a walk.

If it wasn't for dogs, some people would never go for a walk.

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
read more

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
'Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,--you're straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.