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My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?

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
Many
Love

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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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The past is not a package one can lay away.
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When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.
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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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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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The only secret people keep is immortality.
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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Eternity' is there, We say, as of a station. Meanwhile, he is so near, He joins me in my Ramble? Divides abode with me? No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity.
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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
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There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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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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I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.
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Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.
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