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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -

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
Soul
Agonizing
Imperial
Spy
Unto
Send
Friendship
Friend
Enemy

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Beauty crowds me till I die. Beauty, mercy have on me! Yet if I expire to-day Let it be in sight of thee!
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.
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If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.
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When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth for His mercy endureth forever, with confiding revulsion.
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I felt it shelter to speak to you.
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People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
Emily Dickinson
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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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The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly - and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn't think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.
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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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Not if Their Party were waiting, Not if to talk with Me Were to Them now, Homesickness After Eternity.
Emily Dickinson
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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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The steeples swam in amethyst, the news like squirrels swam.
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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
Emily Dickinson
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An altered look about the hills A Tyrian light the village fills A wider sunrise in the dawn A deeper twilight on the lawn A print of a vermilion foot A purple finger on the slope A flippant fly upon the pane A spider at his trade again An added strut in chanticleer A flower expected everywhere.
Emily Dickinson
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I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there's a pair of us? Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one's name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!
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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.
Emily Dickinson
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The only secret people keep is immortality.
Emily Dickinson
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Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.
Emily Dickinson
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That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
Emily Dickinson