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Spring is the Period Express from God.

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
Express
Period
Periods
Spring

More quotes by Emily Dickinson

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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
Emily Dickinson
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The hearts that never lean must fall.
Emily Dickinson
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Where thou art, that is home.
Emily Dickinson
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Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Emily Dickinson
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Our little kinsmen after rain In plenty may be seen, a pink and pulpy multitude The tepid ground upon A needless life if seemed to me Until a little bird As to a hospitality Advanced and breakfasted.
Emily Dickinson
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The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
Emily Dickinson
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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.
Emily Dickinson
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
Emily Dickinson
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I tasted life.
Emily Dickinson
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
Emily Dickinson
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His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!
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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Home is the definition of God.
Emily Dickinson
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
Emily Dickinson
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You'll find it-when you try to die- The Easier to let go- For recollecting such as went- You could not spare-you know.
Emily Dickinson
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Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn Men eat of it and die.
Emily Dickinson
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Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity - Unable they that love - to die For Love reforms Vitality Into Divinity.
Emily Dickinson
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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
Emily Dickinson
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My business is circumference.
Emily Dickinson
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Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --
Emily Dickinson