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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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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
Small
Chestnuts
Eyes
Guest
Eye
Bold
Burr
Like
Guests
Burrs
Glass
Chestnut
Glasses
Wren
Leaves
Wrens
Hair
Sherry
More quotes by Emily Dickinson
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.
Emily Dickinson
Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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Best Witchcraft is Geometry To the magician's mind - His ordinary acts are feats To thinking of mankind.
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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane
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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
Emily Dickinson
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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Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!
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The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
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Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me?
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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 Spider as an Artist Has never been employed- Though his surpassing Merit Is freely certified.
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The hearts that never lean must fall.
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Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
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I don't profess to be profound but I do lay claim to common sense.
Emily Dickinson
Pain - has an Element of Blank It cannot recollect When it begun - or if there were a time when it was not - It has no Future - but itself - Its Infinite contain Its Past - enlightened to perceive New Periods - of Pain.
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The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.
Emily Dickinson