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We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more-.

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
Doors
Behinds
Behind
Jest
Death
Bolts
Going
Shut
Never
Following
Door
Fate

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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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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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It is finished, is never said of us
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Not 'Revelation'-'tis that waits/ But our unfurnished eyes
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My life closed twice before its close It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me, So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.
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You remember my ideal cat has always a huge rat in its mouth, just going out of sight - though going out of sight in itself has a peculiar pleasure.
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Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
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I hope you're very careful working, eating and drinking when the heat is so great--there are temptations there which at home you are free from--beware the juicy fruits, and the cooling ades, and cordials, and do not eat ice-cream, it is so very dangerous.
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Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat
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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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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
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Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth
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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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The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
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If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as forgot As Dawn forgets them now
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God's little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.
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To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
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The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
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