Emily Dickinson

Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.

Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.

I never had a mother. I suppose a mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.

The design of those commissioners, frigates and warlike force is directed rather against Long Island and these your Honors' possessions, than to the imagined reform of New England.

Another thing that freaks me out is time. Time is like a book. You have a beginning, a middle and an end. It's just a cycle.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.