| EMILY DICKINSON |
 |
| �A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.� �Fame is a bee. It has a song� It has a sting� Ah, too, it has a wing.� � 'Hope' is the thing with feathers- That perches in the soul- And sings the tunes without the words- And never stops--at all.� �If� it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that it is poetry.� �I'll tell you how the sun rose-- one ribbon at a time.� �Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed.� �That love is all there is is all we know of love.� �That it will never come again Is what makes life so sweet.� �...the fog is rising.� (her last words) �The mere sense of living is joy enough.� �They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.� �Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality.� |
| (1830-1886) |