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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.

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
Precious
Dust
Poverty
Grew
Knew
Poor
Robust
Words
Drank
Spirit
Frame

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I took one Draught of Life - I'll tell you what I paid - Precisely an existence - The market price, they said.
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Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until
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Love is like life-merely longer.
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God's little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.
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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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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
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You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
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The Pleading of the Summer - That other Prank - of Snow - That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels - know.
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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
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I dwell in possibility.
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The spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.
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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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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
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You are out of the way of temptation and out of the way of the tempter - I didn't mean to make you wicked - but I was - and am - and shall be - and I was with you so much that I couldn't help contaminate.
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