Quote

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.

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
Never
Sea
Chart
Saws
Emily
Heaven
Visited
Faith
Spokes
Given
Spoke
Moor
Certain
Spot
Heather
Looks
Spots
Heathers
Must
Wave
Moors

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If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
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A wounded deer leaps the highest.
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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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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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Forever is composed of Nows— 'Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home
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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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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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Assent - and you are sane - Demur - and you're straightaway dangerous - and handled with a chain.
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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God's little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.
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I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.
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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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The brain is wider than the sky.
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
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If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as forgot As Dawn forgets them now
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