Quote

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.

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
Writing
Shining
Much
Word
Life
Write
World
Power
Look
Nothing
Looks
Shine
Sometimes
Begins

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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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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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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
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You'll find it-when you try to die- The Easier to let go- For recollecting such as went- You could not spare-you know.
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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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To shut your eyes is to travel.
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The abdication of Belief Makes the Behavior small- Better an ignis fatuus Than no illume at all.
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The hearts that never lean must fall.
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PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.
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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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Hope is a thing with feathers
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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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I dwell in Possibility A fairer house than Prose More numerous of Windows Superior — for Doors.
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.
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March is the month of expectation, The things we do not know, The Persons of Prognostication Are coming now. We try to sham becoming firmness, But pompous joy Betrays us, as his first betrothal Betrays a boy.
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Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
Emily Dickinson
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When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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