"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"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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Source: Emily Dickinson, Helen Vendler (2010). “Dickinson”, p.115, Harvard University Press
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