Quote

Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me?

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
Says
Censure
Shalt
Criteria
Lover
Gods
Thou
Lovers
Othello
Atheism
Criterion

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My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?
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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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Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
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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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Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.
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We trust in plumed procession For such the angels go Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.
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Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?
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Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
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Truth - is as old as God-.
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We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.
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I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy I said: 'T will keep. I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
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I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there's a pair of us? Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one's name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!
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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
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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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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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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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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity
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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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