I tasted life.

Drunkards of summer are quite as frequent as Drunkards of wine.

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.

If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted.

Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.

To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.