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How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world,--you must have noticed them in the street,--how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?

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
People
Strength
Morning
Thought
Live
Without
Noticed
Many
Street
Must
Clothes
World
Streets

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a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.
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A Letter is a Joy of Earth - It is denied the Gods
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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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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Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.
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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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Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity - Unable they that love - to die For Love reforms Vitality Into Divinity.
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I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.
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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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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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LOOK back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!
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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.
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My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?
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Not if Their Party were waiting, Not if to talk with Me Were to Them now, Homesickness After Eternity.
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Heaven is so far of the mind that were the mind dissolved - the site of it by architect could not again be proved.
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