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They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.

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
Somewhat
Memorable
Everywhere
God
Spiritual
Always
Recluse
Think
Hermits
Thinking
Emily

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Not 'Revelation'-'tis that waits/ But our unfurnished eyes
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Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...
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Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.
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Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
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A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides
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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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These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.
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Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
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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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There's a certain Slant of light, Winter afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are.... When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death.
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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
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I do not like the man who squanders life for fame give me the man who living makes a name.
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The brain is wider than the sky.
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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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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
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