An ill heart, like a body, has its more comfortable days, and then its days of pain, its long relapse, when rallying requires more effort than to dissolve life, and death looks choiceless.
When I lost the use of my Eyes it was a comfort to think there were so few real books that I could easily find some one to read me all of them.
The Babies we were are buried, and their shadows are plodding on.
Beauty crowds me till I die.” Emily Dickinson.
The Soul selects her own Society – Then – shuts the Door – To her divine Majority – Present no more –.
I notice where Death has been introduced, he frequently calls, making it desirable to forestall his advances.
XVI. Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the culprit, – Life!
I’ve got a Tomahawk in my side but that don’t hurt me much.
No hay mejor fragata que un libro para llevarnos a tierras lejanas.
SUMMER SHOWER. A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook, That went to help the sea. Myself conjectured, Were they pearls, What necklaces could be! The dust replaced in hoisted roads, The birds jocoser sung; The sunshine threw his hat away, The orchards spangles hung. The breezes brought dejected lutes, And bathed them in the glee; The East put out a single flag, And signed the fete away.
There’s nothing wicked in Shakespeare, and if there is I don’t want to know it.
I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.
Who loves you most, and loves you best, and thinks of you when others rest? ‘Tis Emilie.
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball...
There are depths in every Consciousness, from which we cannot rescue ourselves – to which none can go with us.
I hide myself within my flower, That wearing on your breast, You, unsuspecting, wear me too – And angels know the rest.
Home is so far from home.
Emerging from an Abyss and entering it again – that is Life, is it not?
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst Break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee.
We cherish all the past, we glide a-down the present, awake yet dreaming; but the future of ours together – there the bird sings loudest, and the sun shines always there...