Quote

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.

Emily Dickinson

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Emily Dickinson
Age: 55 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 10
Died: 1886
Died: May 15
Poet
Writer
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Ai-mi-li Ti-chin-sen
Emilia Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Love
Hope
Eulogy
Life
Words
Fertility
Inspirational
Emily
Women
Sings
Soul
Feathers
Without
Stops
Thing
Funeral
Never
Tunes
Perches

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Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain --
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
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God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
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A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore A privilege I think.
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I dwell in possibilities .
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Luck is not chance, it's toil fortune's expensive smile is earned.
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Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.
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Heaven is so far of the mind that were the mind dissolved - the site of it by architect could not again be proved.
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Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.
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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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You remember my ideal cat has always a huge rat in its mouth, just going out of sight - though going out of sight in itself has a peculiar pleasure.
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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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Best Witchcraft is Geometry To the magician's mind - His ordinary acts are feats To thinking of mankind.
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You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.
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They might not need me but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
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Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.
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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.
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