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Luck is not chance, it's toil fortune's expensive smile is earned.

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
Luck
Fortune
Toiling
Smile
Emily
Chance
Earned
Gambling
Productivity
Toil
Expensive

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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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Remorse is cureless--the Disease Not even God--can heal-- For 'tis His institution--and The Adequate of Hell
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Not 'Revelation'-'tis that waits/ But our unfurnished eyes
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.
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Such is the force of Happiness-- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.
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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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A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
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I could not prove the Years had feet-/Yet confident they run.
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They say that “Time assuages” - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady
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Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide, But during March and April None stir abroad Without a cordial interview With God.
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A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
Emily Dickinson
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
Emily Dickinson
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Pain - has an Element of Blank It cannot recollect When it begun - or if there were a time when it was not - It has no Future - but itself - Its Infinite contain Its Past - enlightened to perceive New Periods - of Pain.
Emily Dickinson
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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The things of which we want the proof are those we know the best.
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
Emily Dickinson
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That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
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Our little kinsmen after rain In plenty may be seen, a pink and pulpy multitude The tepid ground upon A needless life if seemed to me Until a little bird As to a hospitality Advanced and breakfasted.
Emily Dickinson
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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!
Emily Dickinson