Emily Dickinson

A Fowl Four-Letter Word; HOPEHope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all. -

Which Guy? (half listening)The brain is wider than the sky. - Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) The Singularity of the Sun and other Stars of the Night Sky - A Mö

Accountability by Proxy!The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Present no more — - Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) Consuming an Apple, I live in

Instrumental!Tell the truth, but tell it slant. - Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) Instrumental! A planksip® Möbius in the Making (functionally speaking)What makes you write today? Wrong turns, bad

Still-Born BirthA word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day. - Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) This is My Birth-Right - Another

Indigent AbundanceSaying nothing... sometimes says the most. - Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) Nothing Lasts Forever, But a Little Longer Would be Nice - A planksip® Global WarningWhat makes you write today?

The Formality of FeelingsAfter great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs. - Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) Live Burial and the Wiertz Affect - A planksip® MöbiusWhat

I'll Try Anything OnceThe soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience. - Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) Are You Coming or Going - Your Door is a Jar!