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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.

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
Sunrise
Cute
Dawn
Romantic
Morning
Without
Love
Dwindled
Emily

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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
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Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!
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Such is the force of Happiness-- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.
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... And then I heard them lift a box, And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead, again, Then space began to toll.
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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!
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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
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You'll find it-when you try to die- The Easier to let go- For recollecting such as went- You could not spare-you know.
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To be alive is power existence in itself without a further function omnipotence.
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Publication - is the auction of the mind.
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Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.
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The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.
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Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence - is denied them. They fling their Speech By means of it - in God's Ear - If then He hear - This sums the Apparatus Comprised in Prayer
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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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Eternity' is there, We say, as of a station. Meanwhile, he is so near, He joins me in my Ramble? Divides abode with me? No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity.
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Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.
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How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world,--you must have noticed them in the street,--how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?
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I have an appetite for silence.
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Forever is composed of Nows— 'Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home
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