If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. – Emily Dickinson
His Labor is a Chant — his Idleness — a Tune — oh, for a Bees experience of Clovers, and of Noon! – Emily Dickinson

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. – Emily Dickinson
His Labor is a Chant — his Idleness — a Tune — oh, for a Bees experience of Clovers, and of Noon! – Emily Dickinson
Much Madness is divinest Sense — to a discerning Eye — much Sense — the starkest Madness — – Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality. – Emily Dickinson