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A Deed knocks first at Thought And then - it knocks at Will - That is the manufacturing spot.

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
Deeds
Thought
Firsts
First
Knocks
Manufacturing
Deed
Spot
Spots

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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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Not if Their Party were waiting, Not if to talk with Me Were to Them now, Homesickness After Eternity.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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Wonder is not precisely knowing.
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Forever is made up of nows.
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They say that “Time assuages” - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady
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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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All things do go a-courting, In earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single But thee in His world so fair.
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A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
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We trust in plumed procession For such the angels go Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.
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Friends are nations in themselves.
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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
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He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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I tasted life.
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As Summer into Autumn slips And yet we sooner say The Summer than the Autumn, lest We turn the sun away, And almost count it an Affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved - So we evade the charge of Years On one attempting shy The Circumvention of the Shaft Of Life's Declivity.
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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.
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Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves. You can gain more control over your life by paying closer attention to the little things.
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