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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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A color stands abroad on solitary hills that silence cannot overtake, but human nature feels.
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Much Madness is Divinest Sense, to a Discerning Eye.
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A wounded deer leaps the highest.
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a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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I dwell in Possibility A fairer house than Prose More numerous of Windows Superior — for Doors.
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!
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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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Prayer is the little implement through which men reach where presence is denied them.
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Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit-Life!
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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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THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire, He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her. Depart, before the host has slid The bolt upon the door, To seek for the accomplished guest, -- Her visitor no more.
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Twin loaves of bread have just been born into the world under my auspices. Fine children, the image of their mother. And here, my dear friend, is the glory.
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Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence - is denied them. They fling their Speech By means of it - in God's Ear - If then He hear - This sums the Apparatus Comprised in Prayer
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Home is the definition of God.
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