"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—"
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Source: Emily Dickinson (2006). “The World in a Frame”, p.80, Pomegranate
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