Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Elizabeth Dickinsonwas 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 highly introverted. After studying at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she briefly attended the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's house in Amherst. Considered an eccentric by locals, she developed a noted penchant for white clothing and became known for her reluctance to...
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth10 December 1830
CityAmherst, MA
Remember if you marry for beauty, thou bindest thyself all thy life for that which perchance, will neither last nor please thee one year: and when thou hast it, it will be to thee of no price at all.
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar - Requires sorest need.
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed.
Narcotics cannot still the toothThat Nibbles at the soul
His Labor is a Chant -- his Idleness -- a Tune -- oh, for a Bee's experience of Clovers, and of Noon!
Hope it strange invention --/ A Patent of the Heart --/ In unremitting action/ Yet never wearing out.
Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.
Heaven is so far of the mind that were the mind dissolved -- the site of it by architect could not again be proved.
I cannot live with You --/ It would be Life --/ And Life is over there --/ Behind the Shelf.
How dreary - to be - somebody! How public - like a frog - to tell your name - the livelong June - to an admiring bog!
I like a look of Agony, because I know it's true -- men do not sham Convulsion, nor simulate, a Throe --
The heart asks pleasure first, and then excuse from pain, and then those little anodynes that deaden suffering
And Something's odd - within -That person that I was - And this One - do not feel the same - Could it be Madness - this?
This is my letter to the World / That never wrote to Me-- / The simple News that Nature told-- / With tender majesty.