Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and never sleeps at all. – Emily Dickinson
My friend Carol and I were talking about this very verse just last Saturday, out in her backyard, watching her birds.
Which makes me sound all soulful and poetic, which I’m not, especially. But Carol is. And I’m nothing if not full of hope.
Just like a Slattery 
Emily Dickenson was so wrong! Hope is not the thing with feathers. The thing with feathers turns out to be my nephew. I must take him to a specialist in Zurich.
— Woody Allen