The Great Emily Dickenson

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.