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The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.

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
Forgot
Reveals
Anguish
Friend
Friends
Slowest

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I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.
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Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation-.
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Spring is the Period Express from God.
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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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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
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You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
Emily Dickinson
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Prosperity Whose sources are interior. As soon Adversity A diamond overtake.
Emily Dickinson
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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
Emily Dickinson
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Remorse is cureless--the Disease Not even God--can heal-- For 'tis His institution--and The Adequate of Hell
Emily Dickinson
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The Pleading of the Summer - That other Prank - of Snow - That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels - know.
Emily Dickinson
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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.
Emily Dickinson
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I do not like the man who squanders life for fame give me the man who living makes a name.
Emily Dickinson
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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
Emily Dickinson
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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.
Emily Dickinson
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The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
Emily Dickinson
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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!
Emily Dickinson
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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
Emily Dickinson
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Eternity' is there, We say, as of a station. Meanwhile, he is so near, He joins me in my Ramble? Divides abode with me? No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity.
Emily Dickinson
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Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.
Emily Dickinson