Quote

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.

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
Splits
Match
Fit
Tried
Brain
Felt
Cleaving
Mind
Seam
Make
Split

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A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides
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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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To see her is a picture- To hear her is a tune- To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June- To know her not-Affliction- To own her for a Friend A warmth as near as if the the Sun Were shining in your Hand.
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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
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Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.
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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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Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn Men eat of it and die.
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I dwell in possiblities.
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I could not prove the Years had feet-/Yet confident they run.
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Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane
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The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
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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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The Pleading of the Summer - That other Prank - of Snow - That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels - know.
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I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.
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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
Emily Dickinson
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Dreams are the subtle Dower That make us rich an Hour Then fling us poor Out of the purple door.
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I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.
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Wonder is not precisely knowing.
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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
Emily Dickinson