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For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.

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
Must
Ecstatic
Keen
Anguish
Ecstasy
Instant
Pay
Quivering
Joy
Ratio
Happiness
Ratios

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Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.
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I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.
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Beauty is not caused. It is.
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Dreams are the subtle Dower That make us rich an Hour Then fling us poor Out of the purple door.
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How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.
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Friends are nations in themselves.
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I dwell in Possibility A fairer House than Prose More numerous of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers as the Cedars Impregnable of Eye And for an Everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky Of Visitors--the fairest For Occupation--This The spreading wide my narrow Hands To gather Paradise
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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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I tasted life.
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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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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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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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-.
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Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile – the winds – To a heart in port – Done with the compass – Done with the chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah, the sea! Might I moor – Tonight – In thee!
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The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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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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When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth for His mercy endureth forever, with confiding revulsion.
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Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind--
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