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Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat
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
Would
Soon
Feds
Dead
Quick
Enemy
Fats
Flits
Growing
Revenge
Departs
Lasts
Meat
Avenge
Last
Anger
Palate
Hate
Mines
Faded
Makes
Mine
Starving
More quotes by Emily Dickinson
My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
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The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until
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Prosperity Whose sources are interior. As soon Adversity A diamond overtake.
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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Find ecstasy in life the mere sense of living is joy enough.
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Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
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Speech is one symptom of affection and silence one the perfect communication is heard of none.
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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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Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?
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An altered look about the hills A Tyrian light the village fills A wider sunrise in the dawn A deeper twilight on the lawn A print of a vermilion foot A purple finger on the slope A flippant fly upon the pane A spider at his trade again An added strut in chanticleer A flower expected everywhere.
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Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.
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The spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.
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A Bayonet's contrition is nothing to the dead.
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.
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I dwell in Possibility A fairer house than Prose More numerous of Windows Superior — for Doors.
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The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.
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A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
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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.
Emily Dickinson