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If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.

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
Dog
Fame
Approbation
Would
Forsake
Belonged
Longest
Chase
Escape
Pass

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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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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted- Which Blossom in the dark.
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To be alive──is Power.
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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
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This so much joy! This so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so this side the victory!
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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.
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Speech is one symptom of affection and silence one the perfect communication is heard of none.
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The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
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Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.
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I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy I said: 'T will keep. I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
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Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.
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A Letter is a Joy of Earth - It is denied the Gods
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The only secret people keep is immortality.
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What Soft--Cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen are-- One would as soon assault a Plush-- Or violate a Star
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To fight aloud is very brave, but gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom, the Cavalry of Woe.
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To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
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Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat
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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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And you dropt, lost, When something broke-- And let you from a Dream
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