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Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
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
History
Around
Find
Need
Needs
Every
Witchcraft
Hung
More quotes by Emily Dickinson
His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
Emily Dickinson
Not to discover weakness is The Artifice of strength.
Emily Dickinson
Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.
Emily Dickinson
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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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
Emily Dickinson
September's Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets - Crows - and Retrospects And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming - An Innuendo sear That makes the Heart put up its Fun And turn Philosopher.
Emily Dickinson
The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
Emily Dickinson
Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
Emily Dickinson
Not 'Revelation'-'tis that waits/ But our unfurnished eyes
Emily Dickinson
This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---
Emily Dickinson
Wonder is not precisely knowing.
Emily Dickinson
I could not prove the Years had feet-/Yet confident they run.
Emily Dickinson
A wounded deer leaps the highest.
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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
Emily Dickinson
They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.
Emily Dickinson
LOOK back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!
Emily Dickinson
Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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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.
Emily Dickinson
This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
Emily Dickinson