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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.

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
Fame
Food
Emily
Literature
Fickle
Upon
Plate
Plates
Shifting
Idols
Cooking

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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
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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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Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.
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To fight aloud is very brave, but gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom, the Cavalry of Woe.
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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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Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.
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He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten Your brain to bubble cool,- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.
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Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.
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All things do go a-courting, In earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single But thee in His world so fair.
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If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
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The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.
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People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
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Love is like life-merely longer.
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The brain is wider than the sky.
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit-Life!
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My business is circumference.
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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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