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Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...

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
Afternoon
Hills
Hear
Bumblebee
Heaven
Squirrel
Nature
Squirrels
Eclipse
Hill
Bees

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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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They might not need me but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
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Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
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How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world,--you must have noticed them in the street,--how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?
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March is the month of expectation, The things we do not know, The Persons of Prognostication Are coming now. We try to sham becoming firmness, But pompous joy Betrays us, as his first betrothal Betrays a boy.
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When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
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Fortune befriends the bold.
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there's a pair of us? Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one's name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!
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Truth - is as old as God-.
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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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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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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
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