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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.

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
Norway
November
Seemed
Year
Years
Always

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To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
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Beauty is not caused. It is.
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The only secret people keep is immortality.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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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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We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
Emily Dickinson
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Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.
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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.
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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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Luck is not chance, it's toil fortune's expensive smile is earned.
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Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
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His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
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Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb
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Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.
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Home is the definition of God.
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