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©2007-2009 ~loveorsomething
:iconloveorsomething:

Artist's Comments

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
-Emily Dickenson-

Comments


love 1 1 joy 0 0 wow 0 0 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconbanused:
WOAH

--
Bow Down And Lick My Shoes While Your Mom Raps About How Cool I Am.
:iconpatiencexnovirtue:
love the picture, and especially love the emily dickinson :]
:iconnatureraven:
Beautiful ^.^.

--
"And, finally, what good to us is a long life if it is difficult and barren of joys, and if it is so full of misery that we can only welcome death as a deliverer?" - Freud
:iconpaper-wings01:
Wow.
This is a beautiful picture.
Love you Precious
:P

--
I'll become the sacred faith you lost..

Details

January 28, 2007
145 KB
45.2 KB
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