"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn; Men eat of it and die."
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Source: Emily Dickinson (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Emily Dickinson (Illustrated)”, p.1939, Delphi Classics
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