Quote

The last of Summer is Delight - Deterred by Retrospect. 'Tis Ecstasy's revealed Review - Enchantment's Syndicate. To meet it - nameless as it is - Without celestial Mail - Audacious as without a Knock To walk within the Veil.

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
Lasts
Reviews
Retrospect
Last
Mail
Veil
Without
Delight
Review
Summer
Veils
Deterred
Meet
Celestial
Syndicate
Walk
Knock
Audacious
Walks
Revealed
Enchantment
Within
Ecstasy
Nameless

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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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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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After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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Spring is the Period Express from God.
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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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The only secret people keep is immortality.
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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
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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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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
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We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.
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God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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That short, potential stir That each can make but once, That bustle so illustrious Tis almost consequence, Is the eclat of death.
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Forever is made up of nows.
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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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