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To possess is past the instant we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.

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
Immortality
Possess
Instant
Achieve
Joy
Happiness
Anomaly
Past
Anomalies
Contented

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LOOK back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!
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Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.
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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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Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
Emily Dickinson
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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
Emily Dickinson
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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
Emily Dickinson
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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!
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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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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
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How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world,--you must have noticed them in the street,--how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?
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A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
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Luck is not chance, it's toil fortune's expensive smile is earned.
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We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more-.
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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?
Emily Dickinson
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
Emily Dickinson
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Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation-.
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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until
Emily Dickinson