Quote

That short, potential stir That each can make but once, That bustle so illustrious Tis almost consequence, Is the eclat of death.

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
Bustle
Stir
Potential
Consequence
Short
Almost
Death
Make
Illustrious

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The spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.
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My business is circumference.
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Best Witchcraft is Geometry To the magician's mind - His ordinary acts are feats To thinking of mankind.
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I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.
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Open your life wide, and take me in forever. I will never be tired-I will never be noisy when you want to be still...nobody else will see me, but you-but that is enough-I shall not want any more.
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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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Such is the force of Happiness-- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.
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To be alive is power existence in itself without a further function omnipotence.
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A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
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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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Forever - is composed of Nows - 'Tis not a different time... Let Months dissolve in further Months - And Years - exhale in Years.
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The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.
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To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
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It is finished, is never said of us
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Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit-Life!
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For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
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You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
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Answer July- Where is the Bee- Where is the Blush- Where is the Hay? Ah, said July- Where is the Seed- Where is the Bud- Where is the May- Answer Thee-Me-
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.
Emily Dickinson