A Quote by Emily Dickinson

How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door. — © Emily Dickinson
How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door.
God never shuts one door without opening a bigger better door. Hang in there. You are closer to success than you may think.
There are no lost opportunities in Divine Mind, as one door shuts another door is opened.
The door of the novel, like the door of the poem, also shuts. But not so fast, nor with such manic, unanswerable finality.
How Obama approaches judicial selection - and how Republicans respond - now becomes an important story and will remain so until the Senate shuts down judicial confirmations, probably in the summer of 2016 if Senate custom in presidential-election years is followed.
The best advice my mom has ever given me is to never give up. She believes when one door shuts, another door opens. Always, always move forward.
What makes horror movies work is the idea that "oh my God, what would I do if I were in that situation? How would I get out of that alive? What would I do if I saw the door to my closet creaking open in the middle of the night and a doll on a tricycle comes riding out?"
Where one door shuts another opens.
As one door closes, another one shuts.
When God shuts a door, He opens a window.
Cowardice shuts the eyes till the sky is not larger than a calf-skin: shuts the eyes so that we cannot see the horse that is running away with us; worse, shuts the eyes of the mind and chills the heart.
He who shuts out truth, by the same act opens the door to all the error that supplies its place.
It is the curse of prosperity that it takes work away from us, and shuts that door to hope and health of spirit.
My gut feelings and my faith tell me that until God shuts a door, no human can shut it.
Once my heart was captured, reason was shown the door, deliberately and with a sort of frantic joy. I accepted everything, I believed everything, without struggle, without suffering, without regret, without false shame. How can one blush for what one adores?
But when the door shuts on us, all that vanishes. The shell-like covering which our souls have excreted to house themselves, to make for themselves a shape distinct from others, is broken, and there is left of all these wrinkles and roughnesses a central oyster of perceptiveness, an enormous eye. How beautiful a street is in winter!
So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore.
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