Emily Dickinson

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

“I must go in, the fog is rising.”

“That it will never come again / Is what makes life so sweet.”

“There’s a certain slant of light, / On winter afternoons, / That oppresses, like the weight / Of Cathedral tunes.”

“We turn not older with years, but newer every day.”

“A wounded deer—leaps highest.”