Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate. – Emily Dickinson
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs. – Emily Dickinson
Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate. – Emily Dickinson
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs. – Emily Dickinson
Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell. – Emily Dickinson
Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb — or Dome of Worm — or Porch of Gnome — or some Elfs Catacomb? – Emily Dickinson