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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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Here is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!
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To be alive──is Power.
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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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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
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It is easy to work when the soul is at play.
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The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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Fortune befriends the bold.
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Spring is the Period Express from God.
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
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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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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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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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That short, potential stir That each can make but once, That bustle so illustrious Tis almost consequence, Is the eclat of death.
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You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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Not 'Revelation'-'tis that waits/ But our unfurnished eyes
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The things of which we want the proof are those we know the best.
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I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.
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