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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until

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
Think
Thinking
Like
Tenderest
Altruism
Diligence
Service
Hope
Without

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Beauty is not caused. It is.
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Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.
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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more-.
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THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire, He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her. Depart, before the host has slid The bolt upon the door, To seek for the accomplished guest, -- Her visitor no more.
Emily Dickinson
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly - and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn't think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.
Emily Dickinson
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Forever - is composed of Nows - 'Tis not a different time... Let Months dissolve in further Months - And Years - exhale in Years.
Emily Dickinson
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Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.
Emily Dickinson
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An altered look about the hills A Tyrian light the village fills A wider sunrise in the dawn A deeper twilight on the lawn A print of a vermilion foot A purple finger on the slope A flippant fly upon the pane A spider at his trade again An added strut in chanticleer A flower expected everywhere.
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Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --
Emily Dickinson
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When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.
Emily Dickinson
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The brain is wider than the sky.
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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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
Emily Dickinson
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
Emily Dickinson
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They say that “Time assuages” - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady
Emily Dickinson