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Beauty is not caused. It is.

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
Caused
Beauty
Children

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I have an appetite for silence.
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Much Madness is Divinest Sense, to a Discerning Eye.
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The last of Summer is Delight - Deterred by Retrospect. 'Tis Ecstasy's revealed Review - Enchantment's Syndicate. To meet it - nameless as it is - Without celestial Mail - Audacious as without a Knock To walk within the Veil.
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I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.
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The hearts that never lean must fall.
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Love is like life-merely longer.
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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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You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!
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Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
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Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.
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The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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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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When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.
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To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
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I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
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I dwell in possibilities .
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Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
Emily Dickinson