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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.

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
Slow
Possibility
Imagination
Possible
Fuse
Lit

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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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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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I would paint a portrait which would bring the tears, had I canvas for it, and the scene should be -- solitude, and the figures -- solitude -- and the lights and shades, each a solitude.
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The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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Speech is one symptom of affection and silence one the perfect communication is heard of none.
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Luck is not chance, it's toil fortune's expensive smile is earned.
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Beauty crowds me till I die. Beauty, mercy have on me! Yet if I expire to-day Let it be in sight of thee!
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Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb
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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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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
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Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
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Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...
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For love is immortality.
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The only Commandment I ever obeyed — 'Consider the Lilies.
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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Faith—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not— Too slender for the eye It bears the Soul as bold As it were rocked in Steel With Arms of Steel at either side— It joins—behind the Veil To what, could We presume The Bridge would cease to be To Our far, vacillating Feet A first Necessity.
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And you dropt, lost, When something broke-- And let you from a Dream
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Publication - is the auction of the mind.
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I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.
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