Death is a Dialogue between, the Spirit and the Dust.
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- Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
- Dying is a wild night and a new road.
- Let us go in; the fog is rising.
- He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
- A word is dead when it is said. Some say. I say it just, begins to live that day.
- I like a look of Agony, because I know it’s true — men do not sham Convulsion, nor simulate, a Throe —