Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers –
That 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 storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm ...

Forever is composed of nows.

Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.

Not knowing when the Dawn will come,
I open every Door.

Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all.

The soul should always stand ajar,
ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.