Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.
The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Present no more —Tell the truth, but tell it slant.
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.
The brain is wider than the sky.Forever is composed of nows.
Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.
I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you — Nobody — too? Then there’s a pair of us? Don’t tell! they’d advertise — you know!
One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.
Aphotic Depths 