Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
Beauty is not caused. It is.
Forever is composed of nows.
The brain is wider than the sky.
To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
I dwell in possibility.
Dying is a wild night and a new road.
A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.
I cannot live with you, nor without you.
A little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king.
Tell all the truth but tell it slant.
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed.
Where thou art, that is home.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
The heart wants what it wants – or else it does not care.
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
To be alive is power, existence in itself, without a further function, awe, which waits for nothing.
Nature is a haunted house – but Art – is a house that tries to be haunted.
The brain is wider than the sky.
To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down!
The ultimate trust is God’s – nature is not always kind.
The truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.
That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.
A little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king.
My life closed twice before its close.
Nature is what we know yet have not art to say.
Beauty is not caused. It is.
Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
I took my power in my hand and went against the world.
From blank to blank, a threadless way I pushed serenely through.
I had no time to hate, because the grave would hinder me.
I dwell in possibility.
There is no frigate like a book to take us lands away.
I argue thee that love is life.
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed.
A wounded deer leaps the highest.
Feather by feather, the bird made a nest.
The heart wants what it wants or else it does not care.
That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.
The truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee.
Death sets a thing significant.
How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.
A bee has a momentous character to keep.
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.
Tell all the truth but tell it slant.
Beauty is not caused. It is.
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