Quote

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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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
Bread
Street
Urchin
Sing
Starve
Paint
Unnoticed
Streets
Sad
Dream
Till
Every
Affection
Like
Sadness

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Where thou art, that is home.
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This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---
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Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.
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Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb
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When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
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I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.
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I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.
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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?
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I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.
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... And then I heard them lift a box, And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead, again, Then space began to toll.
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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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The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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