The Soul selects her own Society. - Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

"I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit.The thought behind, I strove to joinUnto the thought before—But Sequence ravelled out of SoundLike Balls—upon a Floor."

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted."

"Not knowing when the dawn will comeI open every door."

"I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit."

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