Not knowing when the dawn will comeI open every door. - Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

"A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think."

"Hope is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soul,And sings the tune without the words,And never stops at all,And sweetest in the gale is heard;And sore must be the stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.I've heard it in the chilliest landAnd on the strangest sea;Yet, never, in extremity,It asked a crumb of me."

"The Soul selects her own Society."

"I stepped from Plank to PlankSo slow and cautiouslyThe Stars about my Head I felt,About my Feet the Sea.I knew not but the nextWould be my final inch —This gave me that precarious GaitSome call Experience."

"A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think."