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This so much joy! This so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so this side the victory!

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
Failing
Poverty
Joy
Ventured
Side
Hesitated
Sides
Gained
Poor
Throw
Upon
Fail
Much
Victory

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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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I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.
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I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.
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Endow the Living - with the Tears - You squander on the Dead.
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Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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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.
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It is easy to work when the soul is at play.
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Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation-.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity
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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
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You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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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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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
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Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
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People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
Emily Dickinson