"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!"
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Source: Emily Dickinson, Thomas Herbert Johnson, Theodora Ward (1986). “The Letters of Emily Dickinson”, p.104, Harvard University Press
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