Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts. Although part of a prominent family with strong ties to its community, Dickinson lived much of her life in reclusive isolation. While Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly 1,800 poems were published during her lifetime. Dickinson’s poems are unique for the era in which she wrote. Many of her poems deal with themes of death and immortality. Dickinson is now almost universally considered to be one of the most significant of all American poets.
Fortune Befriends The Bold.
Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul - And Sings The Tunes Without The Words - And Never Stops At All.
To Make A Prairie It Takes A Clover And One Bee, One Clover, And A Bee, And Revery. The Revery Alone Will Do, If Bees Are Few.
Not Knowing When The Dawn Will Come I Open Every Door.
Saying Nothing... Sometimes Says The Most.
How Strange That Nature Does Not Knock, And Yet Does Not Intrude!
The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar, Ready To Welcome The Ecstatic Experience.
They Say That God Is Everywhere, And Yet We Always Think Of Him As Somewhat Of A Recluse.
Where Thou Art, That Is Home.
A Wounded Deer Leaps The Highest.
Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.
If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking, I Shall Not Live In Vain.
Finite To Fail, But Infinite To Venture.
People Need Hard Times And Oppression To Develop Psychic Muscles.
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.
Morning Without You Is A Dwindled Dawn.
The Brain Is Wider Than The Sky.
My Friends Are My Estate.
That It Will Never Come Again Is What Makes Life Sweet.
To Love Is So Startling It Leaves Little Time For Anything Else.
Dogs Are Better Than Human Beings Because They Know But Do Not Tell.
Unable Are The Loved To Die, For Love Is Immortality.
Love Is Anterior To Life, Posterior To Death, Initial Of Creation, And The Exponent Of Breath.
I Have A Brother And Sister; My Mother Does Not Care For Thought, And Father, Too Busy With His Briefs To Notice What We Do. He Buys Me Many Books, But Begs Me Not To Read Them, Because He Fears They Joggle The Mind.
To Live Is So Startling It Leaves Little Time For Anything Else.
I Am Growing Handsome Very Fast Indeed! I Expect I Shall Be The Belle Of Amherst When I Reach My 17th Year. I Don't Doubt That I Shall Have Perfect Crowds Of Admirers At That Age. Then How I Shall Delight To Make Them Await My Bidding, And With What Delight Shall I Witness Their Suspense While I Make My Final Decision.
It Is Better To Be The Hammer Than The Anvil.
Old Age Comes On Suddenly, And Not Gradually As Is Thought.
Whenever A Thing Is Done For The First Time, It Releases A Little Demon.
A Word Is Dead When It Is Said, Some Say. I Say It Just Begins To Live That Day.
Luck Is Not Chance, It's Toil; Fortune's Expensive Smile Is Earned.
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.
I Dwell In Possibility.
I Argue Thee That Love Is Life. And Life Hath Immortality.
Truth Is So Rare That It Is Delightful To Tell It.
If I Feel Physically As If The Top Of My Head Were Taken Off, I Know That Is Poetry.
Nature Is Our Eldest Mother; She Will Do No Harm.
God Is Not So Wary As We, Else He Would Give Us No Friends, Lest We Forget Him! The Charms Of The Heaven In The Bush Are Superseded, I Fear, By The Heaven In The Hand, Occasionally.
I'm Nobody, Who Are You?
Parting Is All We Know Of Heaven, And All We Need Of Hell.
I Do Not Like The Man Who Squanders Life For Fame; Give Me The Man Who Living Makes A Name.
Dying Is A Wild Night And A New Road.
If I Read A Book And It Makes My Whole Body So Cold No Fire Can Ever Warm Me, I Know That Is Poetry.
In Such A Porcelain Life, One Likes To Be Sure That All Is Well Lest One Stumble Upon One's Hopes In A Pile Of Broken Crockery.
I Hope You Love Birds Too. It Is Economical. It Saves Going To Heaven.
Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A Shifting Plate.
There Is No Frigate Like A Book To Take Us Lands Away Nor Any Coursers Like A Page Of Prancing Poetry.
After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes. The Nerves Sit Ceremonious, Like Tombs.
Tell The Truth, But Tell It Slant.
I Never Had A Mother. I Suppose A Mother Is One To Whom You Hurry When You Are Troubled.