The Possible’s slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
Emily Dickinson Quotes
Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode, until we drive away.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church – I keep it, staying at Home – With a bobolink for a Chorister – And an Orchard, for a Dome.
Except to heaven, she is nought; Except for angels, lone; Except to some wide-wandering bee, A flower superfluous blown; Except for winds, provincial; Except by butterflies, Unnoticed as a single dew That on the acre lies. The smallest housewife in the grass, Yet take her from the lawn, And somebody has lost the face That […]
Where thou art, that, is Home.
Good Morning – Midnight – I’m coming Home – Day – got tired of Me – How could I – of Him?
Eden is that old-fashioned House, We dwell in every day, Without suspecting our abode, Until we drive away.
They are better than human beings, because they know but do not tell.
Much Madness is divinest Sense – To a discerning Eye – Much Sense – the starkest Madness.
