180 ordspråk av Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Forever is composed of nows.
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Forever is composed of nows.
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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Had I not seen the Sun, I could have borne the shade, But Light a newer Wilderness, My Wilderness has made
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He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
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Heaven is so far of the mind that were the mind dissolved / the site of it by architect could not again be proved.
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Heaven is what I cannot reach!
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His Labor is a Chant -- his Idleness -- a Tune -- oh, for a Bee's experience of Clovers, and of Noon!
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His mind of man, a secret makes I meet him with a start he carries a circumference in which I have no part.
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Hope is the thing with feathers
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Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.
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Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.
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Hope it strange invention --/ A Patent of the Heart --/ In unremitting action/ Yet never wearing out.
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How dreary - to be - somebody! How public - like a frog - to tell your name - the livelong June - to an admiring bog!
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How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul
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