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Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!

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
Sunny
Grant
Grants
Autumn
Bear
Bears
Lord
Mind
Windy

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My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June - and in it are my friends - every one of them.
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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Publication - is the auction of the mind.
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Prayer is the little implement through which men reach where presence is denied them.
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Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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Twin loaves of bread have just been born into the world under my auspices. Fine children, the image of their mother. And here, my dear friend, is the glory.
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I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.
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Nature is what we know - Yet have not art to say - So impotent our wisdom is To her simplicity.
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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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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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PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.
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The abdication of Belief Makes the Behavior small- Better an ignis fatuus Than no illume at all.
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