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Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.

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
Fall
Life
Sometime
Wilderness
Falls

More quotes by Emily Dickinson

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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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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
Emily Dickinson
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I hope you're very careful working, eating and drinking when the heat is so great--there are temptations there which at home you are free from--beware the juicy fruits, and the cooling ades, and cordials, and do not eat ice-cream, it is so very dangerous.
Emily Dickinson
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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?
Emily Dickinson
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
Emily Dickinson
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
Emily Dickinson
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My business is circumference.
Emily Dickinson
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
Emily Dickinson
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Nature is what we know - Yet have not art to say - So impotent our wisdom is To her simplicity.
Emily Dickinson
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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
Emily Dickinson
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By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted- Which Blossom in the dark.
Emily Dickinson
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The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
Emily Dickinson
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
Emily Dickinson
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Answer July- Where is the Bee- Where is the Blush- Where is the Hay? Ah, said July- Where is the Seed- Where is the Bud- Where is the May- Answer Thee-Me-
Emily Dickinson
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Prayer is the little implement through which men reach where presence is denied them.
Emily Dickinson
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Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.
Emily Dickinson
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
Emily Dickinson
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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
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It is finished, is never said of us
Emily Dickinson
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And you dropt, lost, When something broke-- And let you from a Dream
Emily Dickinson