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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.

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
Peas
Lies
Within
Lying

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Safe Despair it is that raves- Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal.
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Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.
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Forever is composed of Nows— 'Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home
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Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.
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I could not prove the Years had feet-/Yet confident they run.
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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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We trust in plumed procession For such the angels go Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until
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There's a certain Slant of light, Winter afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are.... When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death.
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I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.
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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.
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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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The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.
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They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.
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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
Emily Dickinson