Quote

She died--this was the way she died And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

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
Must
Sides
Angel
Gate
Way
Since
Figure
Wardrobe
Never
Simple
Sun
Mortal
Upon
Died
Gates
Littles
Figures
Angels
Find
Took
Mortals
Little
Side
Breath
Spied
Done
Started
Breaths
Rebirth

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If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.
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The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
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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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The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
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Publication - is the auction of the mind.
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People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
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To possess is past the instant we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.
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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
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Here is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!
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Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide, But during March and April None stir abroad Without a cordial interview With God.
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Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me?
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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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Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence - is denied them. They fling their Speech By means of it - in God's Ear - If then He hear - This sums the Apparatus Comprised in Prayer
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Such is the force of Happiness-- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.
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Nods from the Gilded pointers - Nods from the Seconds slim - Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life - And Him -
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
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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
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