Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet.
Just girt me for the onset with Eternity, When breath blew back, And on the other side I heard recede the disappointed tide!
Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain --
God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
We must be careful what we say. No bird resumes its egg.
Forever is composed of nows.
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.
He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
To travel far, there is no better ship than a book.
The Brain - is wider than the Sky - For - put them side by side - The one the other will contain With ease - and You - beside - The Brain is deeper than the sea - For- hold them - Blue to Blue - The one the other will absorb - As Sponges - Buckets - do - The Brain is just the weight of God - For - Heft them - Pound for Pound - And they will differ - if they do - As Syllable from Sound.
Within thy Grave! Oh no, but on some other flight - Thou only camest to mankind To rend it with Good night
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?
God's little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.
We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.
You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?
Truth - is as old as God-.
You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.
Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.