A boy with wings, a magic veil, a purifying cathedral smell: a single lick of smoke is many things.
When a crisis strikes, the path of our life turns crooked.
It’s three o’clock and you can’t sleep.
Time passes and threatens to overturn all we have struggled to achieve.
What is the nature of despair?
The first line of Dickinson’s poem leaps off the page like a wild cat about to strike.
Romantic love inspires our finest and perhaps our most ridiculous emotions.
Do not underestimate the power of the human voice. It can hurt, it can heal, it can delight and it can destroy.
We can never predict the power of our actions. The word said, the deed done, disappear into the past, but often, years later, we can be astounded to learn of their impact.
“I wandered lonely as a cloud.” After reading such a line, comment seems superfluous. Time appears to stop.