Quote

I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.

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
Afraid
Boys
Since
Burying
Tell
September
Doe
Terror
Sing
Ground
None

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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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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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A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore A privilege I think.
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Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.
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The Spider as an Artist Has never been employed- Though his surpassing Merit Is freely certified.
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My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June - and in it are my friends - every one of them.
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Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
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She died--this was the way she died And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.
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To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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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 pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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