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“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”
― Emily Dickinson

“Come slowly, Eden!
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars—enters,
And is lost in balms!”
― Emily Dickinson, The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson

“To own a Susan of my own / Is of itself a Bliss / Whatever Realm I forfeit, Lord, / Continue me in this!”
― Emily Dickinson, The Letters of Emily Dickinson

“I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.”
― Emily Dickinson