She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe. And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate. The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her. Upon the mortal side.
Emily DickinsonAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: December 10, 1830
- Died: May 15, 1886
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Self-pity is the bestiality of emotions: it absolutely disgusts people. When you're feeling pity for yourself, and somebody says to you 'You think maybe it's time for the pity party to be over? You should stop feeling sorry for yourself and try to think positive,' it makes you wish you could saw their head off.
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I wonder if it won't be the same with the children as it has been with us. No matter how long each one of them lives, won't their lives feel to them unfinished like ours, only just beginning? I wonder how far they will go. And then their children will grow up and it will be the same with them. Unfinished lives. Oh, dearie, what children all of us are.
Ernest Poole