There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
From Emily Dickinson
Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
I never had a mother. I suppose a mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.
Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.
Where thou art, that is home.
I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.
Tell the truth, but tell it slant.
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