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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf

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
Life
Shelf
Shelves
Behinds
Behind
Cannot
Live
Would

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My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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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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If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves. You can gain more control over your life by paying closer attention to the little things.
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To be alive──is Power.
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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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The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.
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THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire, He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her. Depart, before the host has slid The bolt upon the door, To seek for the accomplished guest, -- Her visitor no more.
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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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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 Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
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Wonder is not precisely knowing.
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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The things of which we want the proof are those we know the best.
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Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?
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We trust in plumed procession For such the angels go Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.
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The career of flowers differs from ours only inaudibleness.
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