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“Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.”
Emily Dickinson“You could not stop times from changing, his mother said, no more than you could stop the surf from rolling.”
Brandon Sanderson, Sixth of the Dusk“You could not stop the winds and you could not stop Time. It went on and on,-and on.”
Bess Streeter Aldrich“Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me - The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality.”
Emily Dickinson“I could not stop talking because now I had started my story, it wanted to be finished. We cannot choose where to start and stop. Our stories are the tellers of us. ”
Chris Cleave, Little Bee“Because I could not stop for death he kindly stopped for me, or paused at least to strike a glancing blow with his sky-blue mouth as he passed.”
Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible“I did not want to tell her what happened, but I had to now. I could not stop talking because now I had started my story, it wanted to be finished. We cannot choose where to start and stop. Our stories are the tellers of us.”
Chris Cleave, Little Bee“A terrible premonition washed over me. This was how the whole world would end.... They would devour the forest and excrete piles of buildings made of stone wrenched from the earth or from dead trees. They would hammer paths of bare stone between their dwellings, and dirty the rivers and subdue the land until it could recall only the will of man. They could not stop themselves from doing what they did. They did not see what they did, and even if they saw, they did not know how to stop. They no longer knew what was enough.”
Robin Hobb, Shaman's Crossing“Because I could not stop for Death,He kindly stopped for me;The carriage held but just ourselvesAnd Immortality.We slowly drove, he knew no haste,And I had put awayMy 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 seemedA swelling of the ground;The roof was scarcely visible,The cornice but a mound.Since then 'tis centuries; but eachFeels shorter than the dayI first surmised the horses' headsWere toward eternity.”
Emily Dickinson“She needed this. For the comfort, for the love, for all the glorious things she did not deserve and yet could not stop herself from wanting.”
Madeline Martin, Deception of a Highlander