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
Gods
Thou
Lovers
Othello
Atheism
Criterion
Says
Censure
Shalt
Criteria
Lover

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Fortune befriends the bold.
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Elysium is as far as to The very nearest room, If in that room a friend await Felicity of doom.
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These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.
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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
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Such is the force of Happiness-- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.
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A Letter is a Joy of Earth - It is denied the Gods
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Nature is what we know - Yet have not art to say - So impotent our wisdom is To her simplicity.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
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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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'Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand When we with Daisies lie- That Commerce will continue- And Trades as briskly fly.
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You'll find it-when you try to die- The Easier to let go- For recollecting such as went- You could not spare-you know.
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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
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She died--this was the way she died And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.
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Forever is composed of Nows— 'Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home
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PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.
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There's a certain Slant of light, Winter afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are.... When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death.
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Success is counted sweetest / By those who ne'er succeed.
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Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.
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