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Hope is the thing with feather
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hope
inspirational
feathers
souls
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Emily Dickinson |
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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul
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hope
inspirational
souls
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Emily Dickinson |
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Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
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Emily Dickinson |
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If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?
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power-of-words
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Emily Dickinson |
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I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there 's a pair of us--don't tell! They 'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
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poetry
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Emily Dickinson |
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Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.
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nature
haunted
house
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Emily Dickinson |
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To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
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inspirational
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Emily Dickinson |
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A word is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day.
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words
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Emily Dickinson |
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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writing
inspirational
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Emily Dickinson |
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How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone,
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poems
poetry
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Emily Dickinson |
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Because I could not stop for Death - He kindly stopped for me -
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Emily Dickinson |
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Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight!
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Emily Dickinson |
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There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry - This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll - How frugal is the Chariot That bears a Human soul.
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words
literature
reading
poetry
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Emily Dickinson |
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One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
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poetry
sadness
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Emily Dickinson |
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The lovely flowers embarrass me.
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Emily Dickinson |
c3eabee
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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
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poetry
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Emily Dickinson |
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A great hope fell
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Emily Dickinson |
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We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.
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inspirational
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Emily Dickinson |
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That I shall love always, I argue thee
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love
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Emily Dickinson |
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If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin
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pain
heartbreak
robin
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Emily Dickinson |
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I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes; I wonder if It weighs like Mine, Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long, Or did it just begin? I could not tell the Date of Mine, It feels so old a pain. I wonder if it hurts to live, And if They have to try, And whether, could They choose between, It would not be, to die. I note that Some -- gone patient long -- At length, renew their smile. An imitation of ..
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Emily Dickinson |
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An ear can break a human heart As quickly as a spear,
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Emily Dickinson |
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Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
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Emily Dickinson |
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I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? "For beauty," I replied. "And I for truth,--the two are one; We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names."
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poetry
death
truth
keats
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emily dickinson |
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If you were coming in the fall, I'd brush the summer by, With half a smile and half a spurn, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year, I'd wind the months in balls, And put them each in separate drawers, Until their time befalls.
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Emily Dickinson |
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The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.
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Emily Dickinson |
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She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.
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death
emily-dickinson
rebirth
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Emily Dickinson |
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Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-
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inspirational
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Emily Dickinson |
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Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind
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Emily Dickinson |
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Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
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Emily Dickinson |
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Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain --
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madness
sanity
poetry
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Emily Dickinson |
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To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
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happiness
clover
lightheartedness
revery
prairie
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Emily Dickinson |
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He ate and drank the precious words, His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust. He danced along the dingy days, And this bequest of wings
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words
literature
poetry
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Emily Dickinson |
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I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading - treading - till it seemed That Sense was breaking through - And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum - Kept beating - beating - till I thought My Mind was going numb - And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then Space - began to toll, As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and..
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pain
depression
elegy
emily-dickinson
funeral
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Emily Dickinson |
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Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
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fed
starving
dead
fat
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Emily Dickinson |
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There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons,
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Emily Dickinson |
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To be alive--is Power.
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Emily Dickinson |
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in this short life that only lasts ah hour
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emily dickinson |
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I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun.
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Emily Dickinson |
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Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see,
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religion
science
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Emily Dickinson |
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I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
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Emily Dickinson |
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I felt a Cleaving in my Mind-- As if my Brain had split-- I tried to match it--Seam by Seam-- But could not make it fit.
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poetry
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Emily Dickinson |
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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
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Emily Dickinson |
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To see her is a picture- To hear her is a tune- To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June- To know her not-Affliction- To own her for a Friend A warmth as near as if the the Sun Were shining in your Hand.
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Emily Dickinson |