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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
Friends
Slowest
Forgot
Reveals
Anguish
Friend

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I stepped from Plank to Plank A slow and cautious way
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To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
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The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
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Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze..., Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!
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God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
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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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You are out of the way of temptation and out of the way of the tempter - I didn't mean to make you wicked - but I was - and am - and shall be - and I was with you so much that I couldn't help contaminate.
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Spring is the Period Express from God.
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I took one Draught of Life - I'll tell you what I paid - Precisely an existence - The market price, they said.
Emily Dickinson
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Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?
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Truth - is as old as God-.
Emily Dickinson
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Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
Emily Dickinson
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It is easy to work when the soul is at play.
Emily Dickinson
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He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten Your brain to bubble cool,- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.
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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
Emily Dickinson
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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.
Emily Dickinson
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
Emily Dickinson