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
Done
Started
Breaths
Rebirth
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

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To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
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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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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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Success is counted sweetest / By those who ne'er succeed.
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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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Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
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For love is immortality.
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
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The hearts that never lean must fall.
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I dwell in possibility.
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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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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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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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There is a solitude of space. A solitude of sea. A solitude of death, but these societies shall be compared with that profounder site-that polar privacy. A soul admitted to itself--Finite infinity.
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Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind--
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You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!
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