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My Friends Are My Estate. Forgive Me Then The Avarice To Hoard Them. They Tell Me Those Who Were Poor Early Have Different Views Of Gold. I Don't Know How That Is. God Is Not So Wary As We, Else He Would Give Us No Friends, Lest We Forget Him.

-Emily Dickinson

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My Friends Are My

Emily Dickinson

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My Friends Are My Estate. Forgive Me Then The Avarice To Hoard Them. They Tell Me Those Who Were Poor Early Have Different Views Of Gold. I Don't Know How That Is. God Is Not So Wary As We, Else He Would Give Us No Friends, Lest We Forget Him.

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A Power Of Butterfly Must Be - The Aptitude To Fly Meadows Of Majesty Concedes And Easy Sweeps Of Sky -

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When I State Myself, As The Representative Of The Verse, It Does Not Mean Me, But A Supposed Person.

It Was A Quiet Way - He Asked If I Was His - I Made No Answer Of The Tongue But Answer Of The Eyes - And Then He Bore Me On Before This Mortal Noise With Swiftness, As Of Chariots And Distance, As Of Wheels. This World Did Drop Away As Acres From The Feet Of One That Leaneth From Balloon Upon An Ether Street. The Gulf Behind Was Not, The Continents Were New - Eternity Was Due. No Seasons Were To Us - It Was Not Night Nor Morn - But Sunrise Stopped Upon The Place And Fastened In Dawn.

A Soft Sea Washed Around The House A Sea Of Summer Air And Rose And Fell The Magic Planks That Sailed Without A Care — For Captain Was The Butterfly For Helmsman Was The Bee And An Entire Universe For The Delighted Crew.

I Tasted - Careless - Then - I Did Not Know The Wine Came Once A World - Did You? Oh, Had You Told Me So - This Thirst Would Blister - Easier - Now

A Charm Invests A Face Imperfectly Beheld,— The Lady Dare Not Lift Her Veil For Fear It Be Dispelled. But Peers Beyond Her Mesh, And Wishes, And Denies,— Lest Interview Annul A Want That Image Satisfies.

Dying Is A Wild Night And A New Road.

I Had No Time To Hate, Because The Grave Would Hinder Me, And Life Was Not So Ample I Could Finish Enmity Nor Had I Time To Love: But Since Some Industry Must Be, The Little Toil Of Love, I Thought, Was Large Enough For Me.

If I Read A Book And It Makes My Whole Body So Cold No Fire Can Ever Warm Me, I Know That Is Poetry.

I Hide Myself Within My Flower That Wearing On Your Breast, You, Unsuspecting, Wear Me Too - And Angels Know The Rest. I Hide Myself Within My Flower, That, Fading From Your Vase, You, Unsuspecting, Feel For Me Almost A Loneliness.

Life Is A Spell So Exquisite That Everything Conspires To Break It.

Publication - Is The Auction Of The Mind.

Sweet Skepticism Of The Heart That Knows And Does Not Know And Tosses Like A Fleet Of Balm Affronted By The Snow.

The Pedigree Of Honey Does Not Concern The Bee; A Clover, Any Time, To Him Is Aristocracy.

I Do Not Like The Man Who Squanders Life For Fame; Give Me The Man Who Living Makes A Name.

Take All Away From Me, But Leave Me Ecstasy, And I Am Richer Then Than All My Fellow Men-.

The Things That Never Can Come Back, Are Several- Childhood-some Forms Of Hope-the Dead- Though Joys-like Men-may Sometimes Make A Journey- And Still Abide-.

You Left Me Boundaries Of Pain Capacious As The Sea, Between Eternity And Time, Your Consciousness And Me.

You Cannot Put A Fire Out! A Thing That Can Ignite Can Go Itself- Without A Flame- E'en Through The Darkest Night!

To See The Summer Sky Is Poetry, Though Never In A Book It Lie— True Poems Flee—

A Bayonet's Contrition Is Nothing To The Dead.

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were, The Nuts Are Getting Brown; The Berry's Cheek Is Plumper, The Rose Is Out Of Town. The Maple Wears A Gayer Scarf, The Field A Scarlet Gown. Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.

The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar, Ready To Welcome The Ecstatic Experience.

Tell All The Truth, But Tell It Slant/success In Circuit Lies.

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When A Lover Is A Beggar Abject Is His Knee. When A Lover Is An Owner Different Is He.

There's A Certain Slant Of Light, On Winter Afternoons, That Oppresses, Like The Weight Of Cathedral Tunes.

A Letter Is A Joy Of Earth - It Is Denied The Gods

I Dwell In Possibilities... A Fairer House Than Prose.

The Sun Just Touched The Morning; The Morning, Happy Thing, Supposed That He Had Come To Dwell, And Life Would Be All Spring.

Love Can Do All But Raise The Dead I Doubt If Even That From Such A Giant Were Withheld Were Flesh Equivalent But Love Is Tired And Must Sleep, And Hungry And Must Graze And So Abets The Shining Fleet Till It Is Out Of Gaze.

It Is Essential To The Sanity Of Mankind That Each One Should Think The Other Crazy - A Condition With Which The Cynicism Of Human Nature So Cordially Complies, One Could Wish It Were A Concurrence Upon A Subject More Noble.

There Is No Silence In The Earth - So Silent As That Endured Which Uttered, Would Discourage Nature And Haunt The World.

The Crime, From Us, Is Hidden, [though] He Is Presumed To Know.

Positive Atheism

I Stepped From Plank To Plank So Slow And Cautiously; The Stars About My Head I Felt, About My Feet The Sea. I Knew Not But The Next Would Be My Final Inch,— This Gave Me That Precarious Gait Some Call Experience.

Renunciation-is A Piercing Virtue-the Letting Go A Presence-for An Expectation-.

Noon - Is The Hinge Of Day-.

There Is No Frigate Like A Book To Take Us Lands Away Nor Any Coursers Like A Page Of Prancing Poetry.

Love Is Done When Loves Begun, Sages Say, But Have Sages Known?

Portrait The World Spreads Out On Either Side No Farther Than The Heart Is Wide.

I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce Adjusted In The Tomb, When One Who Died For Truth Was Lain In An Adjoining Room. He Questioned Softly Why I Failed? "for Beauty," I Replied. "and I For Truth, The Two Are One; We Brethren Are," He Said. And So, As Kinsmen Met A Night, We Talked Between The Rooms, Until The Moss Had Reached Our Lips, And Covered Up Our Names.

I Would Like More Sisters, That The Taking Out Of One, Might Not Leave Such Stillness.

Unable Are The Loved To Die For Love Is Immortality, Nay, It Is Deity - Unable They That Love - To Die For Love Reforms Vitality Into Divinity.

When Everything That Ticked Has Stopped, And Space Stares, All Around, Or Grisly Frosts, First Autumn Morns, Repeal The Beating Ground.

They Address An Eclipse Every Morning, Whom They Call Their "father."

I Was Almost Persuaded To Be A Christian. I Thought I Never Again Could Be Thoughtless And Worldly. But I Soon Forgot My Morning Prayer Or Else It Was Irksome To Me. One By One My Old Habits Returned And I Cared Less For Religion Than Ever.

We Outgrow Love Like Other Things And Put It In A Drawer, Till It An Antique Fashion Shows Like Costumes Grandsires Wore.

We Dream — It Is Good We Are Dreaming — It Would Hurt Us — Were We Awake — But Since It Is Playing — Kill Us, And We Are Playing — Shriek — What Harm? Men Die — Externally — It Is A Truth — Of Blood — But We — Are Dying In Drama — And Drama — Is Never Dead — Cautious — We Jar Each Other — And Either — Open The Eyes — Lest The Phantasm — Prove The Mistake — And The Livid Surprise Cool Us To Shafts Of Granite — With Just An Age — And Name — And Perhaps A Phrase In Egyptian — It's Prudenter — To Dream —

Anger As Soon As Fed Is Dead- 'tis Starving Makes It Fat.

Of Consciousness, Her Awful Mate. The Soul Cannot Be Rid - As Easy The Secreting Her Behind The Eyes Of God.

Two Seasons, It Is Said, Exist- The Summer Of The Just, And This Of Ours, Diversified With Prospect, And With Frost- May Not Our Second With Its First So Infinite Compare That We But Recollect The One The Other To Prefer?

Ample Make This Bed. Make This Bed With Awe; In It Wait Till Judgment Break Excellent And Fair. Be Its Mattress Straight, Be Its Pillow Round; Let No Sunrise’ Yellow Noise Interrupt This Ground.

To Live Is So Startling It Leaves Little Time For Anything Else.

My Faith Is Larger Than The Hills— So When The Hills Decay— My Faith Must Take The Purple Wheel To Show The Sun The Way— 'tis First He Steps Upon The Vane— And Then — Upon The Hill— And Then Abroad The World He Go To Do His Golden Will— And If His Yellow Feet Should Miss— The Bird Would Not Arise— The Flowers Would Slumber On Their Stems— No Bells Have Paradise— How Dare I, Therefore, Stint A Faith On Which So Vast Depends— Lest Firmament Should Fail For Me— The Rivet In The Bands

Truth - Is As Old As God-.

Apparently With No Surprise To Any Happy Flower The Frost Beheads It At Its Play -- In Accidental Power -- The Blonde Assassin Passes On -- The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

In The Name Of The Bee And Of The Butterfly And Of The Breeze, Amen!

Proud Of My Broken Heart Since Thou Didst Break It, Proud Of The Pain I Did Not Feel Till Thee, Proud Of My Night Since Thou With Moons Dost Slake It, Not To Partake Thy Passion, My Humility.

What Fortitude The Soul Contains, That It Can So Endure The Accent Of A Coming Foot- The Opening Of A Door.

Such Is The Force Of Happiness-- The Least Can Lift A Ton Assisted By Its Stimulus.

At Least To Pray Is Left - Is Left Oh Jesus - In The Air - I Know Not Which Thy Chamber Is - I'm Knocking Everywhere.

If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking, I Shall Not Live In Vain.

The Things That Never Can Come Back, Are Several - Childhood - Some Forms Of Hope - The Dead.

An Altered Look About The Hills; A Tyrian Light The Village Fills; A Wider Sunrise In The Dawn; A Deeper Twilight On The Lawn; A Print Of A Vermilion Foot; A Purple Finger On The Slope; A Flippant Fly Upon The Pane; A Spider At His Trade Again; An Added Strut In Chanticleer; A Flower Expected Everywhere.

Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat?

The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

These Are The Days When Birds Come Back, A Very Few, A Bird Or Two, To Take A Backward Look.

Our Journey Had Advanced; Our Feet Were Almost Come To That Odd Fork In Being's Road, Eternity By Term.

The Bustle In A House The Morning After Death Is Solemnest Of Industries Enacted Upon Earth,-- The Sweeping Up The Heart, And Putting Love Away We Shall Not Want To Use Again Until Eternity

He Deposes Doom Who Hath Suffered Him.

Existence Has Overpowered Books. Today I Slew A Mushroom.

Morning Without You Is A Dwindled Dawn.

If Fame Belonged To Me, I Could Not Escape Her; If She Did Not, The Longest Day Would Pass Me On The Chase, And The Approbation Of My Dog Would Forsake Me.

Sunrise: Day's Great Progenitor.

God's Unique Capacity Is Too Surprising To Surprise.

All Things Do Go A-courting, In Earth, Or Sea, Or Air, God Hath Made Nothing Single But Thee In His World So Fair.

Forever Is Comprised Of Nows.

Opinion Is A Fitting Thing But Truth Outlasts The Sun - If Then We Cannot Own Them Both, Possess The Oldest One.

Beauty Is Not Caused, It Is; Chase It And It Ceases, Chase It Not And It Abides.

Heart, We Will Forget Him, You And I, Tonight! You Must Forget The Warmth He Gave, I Will Forget The Light.

I Hope You're Very Careful Working, Eating And Drinking When The Heat Is So Great--there Are Temptations There Which At Home You Are Free From--beware The Juicy Fruits, And The Cooling Ades, And Cordials, And Do Not Eat Ice-cream, It Is So Very Dangerous.

It Might Be Lonelier Without The Loneliness - I’m So Accustomed To My Fate - Perhaps The Other - Peace - Would Interrupt The Dark - And Crowd The Little Room - Too Scant - By Cubits - To Contain The Sacrament - Of Him - I Am Not Used To Hope - It Might Intrude Upon - Its Sweet Parade - Blaspheme The Place - Ordained To Suffering - It Might Be Easier To Fail - With Land In Sight - Than Gain - My Blue Peninsula - To Perish - Of Delight -

I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road A Robber'd Like The Look Of,-- Wooden Barred, And Windows Hanging Low

I Cannot Live With You, It Would Be Life, And Life Is Over There Behind The Shelf

I Died For Beauty--but Was Scarce Adjusted In The Tomb When One Who Died For Truth, Was Lain In An Adjoining Room

Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

Presentiment Is That Long Shadow On The Lawn Indicative That Suns Go Down; The Notice To The Startled Grass That Darkness Is About To Pass.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society.

Prosperity Whose Sources Are Interior. As Soon Adversity A Diamond Overtake.

I Argue Thee That Love Is Life. And Life Hath Immortality.

We Do Not Play On Graves— Because There Isn't Room— Besides—it Isn't Even—it Slants And People Come— And Put A Flower On It— And Hang Their Faces So— We're Fearing That Their Hearts Will Drop— And Crush Our Pretty Play— And So We Move As Far As Enemies—away— Just Looking Round To See How Far It Is—occasionally—

His Mind Of Man, A Secret Makes I Meet Him With A Start He Carries A Circumference In Which I Have No Part.

Assent - And You Are Sane - Demur - And You're Straightaway Dangerous - And Handled With A Chain.

If Your Nerve, Deny You - Go Above Your Nerve

Eternity' Is There, We Say, As Of A Station. Meanwhile, He Is So Near, He Joins Me In My Ramble? Divides Abode With Me? No Friend Have I That So Persists As This Eternity.

Drab Habitation Of Whom? Tabernacle Or Tomb - Or Dome Of Worm - Or Porch Of Gnome - Or Some Elf's Catacomb?

There Is A Zone Whose Even Years No Solstice Interrupt - Whose Sun Constructs Perpetual Noon Whose Perfect Seasons Wait - Whose Summer Set In Summer, Till The Centuries Of June And Centuries Of August Cease And Consciousness - Is Noon.

I Dwell In Possibility.

If I Read A Book And It Makes My Whole Body So Cold No Fire Can Warm Me, I Know That Is Poetry. If I Feel Physically As If The Top Of My Head Were Taken Off, I Know That Is Poetry. These Are The Only Ways I Know It. Is There Any Other Way?

Whenever A Thing Is Done For The First Time, It Releases A Little Demon.

A Narrow Fellow In The Grass Occasionally Rides

The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Swam.

Home Is The Definition Of God.

Answer July- Where Is The Bee- Where Is The Blush- Where Is The Hay? Ah, Said July- Where Is The Seed- Where Is The Bud- Where Is The May- Answer Thee-me-

I Must Go In, The Fog Is Rising.

Action Is Redemption.

Phosphorescence. Now There's A Word To Lift Your Hat To... To Find That Phosphorescence, That Light Within, That's The Genius Behind Poetry.

You Can Stay Young As Long As You Learn.

Hope Is A Strange Invention - A Patent Of The Heart - In Unremitting Action Yet Never Wearing Out

The Last Of Summer Is Delight - Deterred By Retrospect. 'tis Ecstasy's Revealed Review - Enchantment's Syndicate. To Meet It - Nameless As It Is - Without Celestial Mail - Audacious As Without A Knock To Walk Within The Veil.

It Is Better To Be The Hammer Than The Anvil.

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --

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

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense, To A Discerning Eye.

I Have An Appetite For Silence.

It Is Easy To Work When The Soul Is At Play.

This So Much Joy! This So Much Joy! If I Should Fail, What Poverty! And Yet, As Poor As I Have Ventured All Upon A Throw; Have Gained! Yes! Hesitated So This Side The Victory!

Spring Is The Period Express From God.

But A Book Is Only The Heart's Portrait- Every Page A Pulse.

To Travel Far, There Is No Better Ship Than A Book.

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!

The Spirit Lurks Within The Flesh Like Tides Within The Sea That Make The Water Live, Estranged What Would The Either Be?

I Cannot Help Esteem The 'bird Within The Hand' Superior To The One The 'bush' May Yield Me Or May Not Too Late To Choose Again

I Had Been Hungry All The Years- My Noon Had Come, To Dine- I, Trembling, Drew The Table Near And Touched The Curious Wine. 'twas This On Tables I Had Seen When Turning, Hungry, Lone, I Looked In Windows, For The Wealth I Could Not Hope To Own. I Did Not Know The Ample Bread, 'twas So Unlike The Crumb The Birds And I Had Often Shared In Nature's Diningroom. The Plenty Hurt Me, 'twas So New,-- Myself Felt Ill And Odd, As Berry Of A Mountain Bush Transplanted To The Road. Nor Was I Hungry; So I Found That Hunger Was A Way Of Persons Outside Windows, The Entering Takes Away.

The Service Without Hope Is Tenderest, I Think-- ... There Is No Diligence Like That That Knows Not An Until

They Say That “time Assuages” - Time Never Did Assuage - An Actual Suffering Strengthens As Sinews Do, With Age - Time Is A Test Of Trouble - But Not A Remedy - If Such It Prove, It Prove Too There Was No Malady

The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An Acquired Taste.

After A Hundred Years Nobody Knows The Place, Agony, That Enacted There, Motionless As Peace.

I Had No Monarch In My Life, And Cannot Rule Myself; And When I Try To Organize, My Little Force Explodes And Leaves Me Bare And Charred.

The Heart Asks Pleasure--first-- And Then--excuse From Pain

Nature Is What We See - The Hill, The Afternoon, Squirrel, Eclipse, The Bumblebee. Nay, Nature Is Heaven. Nature Is What We Hear...

There Is Always One Thing To Be Grateful For - That One Is One's Self And Not Somebody Else.

In This Short Life That Only Lasts Ah Hour How Much-how Little-is Within Our Power.

The Revery Alone Will Do If Bees Are Few.

I Hope You Love Birds Too. It Is Economical. It Saves Going To Heaven.

This Is My Letter To The World That Never Wrote To Me

That Short, Potential Stir That Each Can Make But Once, That Bustle So Illustrious Tis Almost Consequence, Is The Eclat Of Death.

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.

You Are Nipping In The Bud Fancies Which I Let Blossom. The Shore Is Safer, But I Love To Buffet The Sea - I Can Count The Bitter Wrecks Here In These Pleasant Waters, And Hear The Murmuring Winds, But Oh, I Love The Danger!

Heavenly Father - Take To Thee The Supreme Iniquity Fashioned By Thy Candid Hand In A Moment Contraband - Though To Trust Us Seem To Us More Respectful - We Are Dust - We Apologize To Thee For Thine Own Duplicity.

Belshazzar Had A Letter,-- He Never Had But One; Belshazzar's Correspondence Concluded And Begun In That Immortal Copy The Conscience Of Us All Can Read Without Its Glasses On Revelation's Wall.

My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close

They Say That 'home Is Where The Heart Is.' I Think It Is Where The House Is, And The Adjacent Buildings.

My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close; It Yet Remains To See If Immortality Unveil A Third Event To Me, So Huge, So Hopeless To Conceive, As These That Twice Befell. Parting Is All We Know Of Heaven, And All We Need Of Hell.

Till The First Friend Dies, We Think Our Ecstasy Impersonal, But Then Discover That He Was The Cup From Which We Drank It, Itself As Yet Unknown.

She Rose To His Requirement, Dropped The Playthings Of Her Life To Take The Honorable Work Of Woman And Of Wife.

I'll Tell You How The Sun Rose, A Ribbon At A Time. The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Ran. The Hills Untied Their Bonnets, The Bobolinks Begun. Then I Said Softly To Myself, "that Must Have Been The Sun!

The Minister Today Preached About Death And Judgment, And What Would Become Of Those Who Behaved Improperly - And Somehow It Scared Me. He Preached Such An Awful Sermon I Didn't Think I Should Ever See You Again Until The Judgment Day. The Subject Of Perdition Seemed To Please Him Somehow.

What Soft--cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen Are-- One Would As Soon Assault A Plush-- Or Violate A Star

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul, And Sings The Tune Without The Words, And Never Stops At All, And Sweetest In The Gale Is Heard; And Sore Must Be The Storm That Could Abash The Little Bird That Kept So Many Warm. I've Heard It In The Chilliest Land And On The Strangest Sea; Yet, Never, In Extremity, It Asked A Crumb Of Me.

How Very Sad It Is To Have A Confiding Nature, One's Hopes And Feelings Are Quite At The Mercy Of All Who Come Along; And How Very Desirable To Be A Stolid Individual, Whose Hopes And Aspirations Are Safe In One's Waistcoat Pocket, And That A Pocket Indeed, And One Not To Be Picked!

Drunkards Of Summer Are Quite As Frequent As Drunkards Of Wine.

A Toad, Can Die Of Light - Death Is The Common Right Of Toads And Men

Beauty Is Just A Light Switch Away...'click!' Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

The Will Is Always Near, Dear, Though The Feet Vary.

Death Is A Supple Suitor, That Wins At Last. It Is A Stealthy Wooing; Conducted First By Pallid Innuendos And Dim Approach, But Brave At Last With Bugles.

Our Little Kinsmen After Rain In Plenty May Be Seen, A Pink And Pulpy Multitude The Tepid Ground Upon; A Needless Life If Seemed To Me Until A Little Bird As To A Hospitality Advanced And Breakfasted.

Tis Not That Dieing Hurts Us So- Tis Living- Hurts Us More.

One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted.

Love Is Like Life-merely Longer.

I Work To Drive The Awe Away, Yet Awe Impels The Work.

A Word Is Dead When It Is Said, Some Say. I Say It Just Begins To Live That Day.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

A Courteous, Yet Harrowing Grace, As Guest, That Would Be Gone

Common Sense Is Almost As Omniscient As God.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul - And Sings The Tunes Without The Words - And Never Stops At All.

A Light Exists In Spring Not Present On The Year At Any Other Period - When March Is Scarcely Here A Color Stands Abroad On Solitary Fields That Science Cannot Overtake But Human Nature Feels. It Waits Upon The Lawn, It Shows The Furthest Tree Upon The Furthest Slope You Know It Almost Speaks To You. Then As Horizons Step Or Noons Report Away Without The Formula Of Sound It Passes And We Stay - A Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content As Trade Had Suddenly Encroached Upon A Sacrament.

Hope . . . Never Stops At All.

Faith Is A Fine Invention When Gentlemen Can See, But Microscopes Are Prudent In An Emergency.

Speech Is One Symptom Of Affection; And Silence One; The Perfect Communication Is Heard Of None.

Love Is Everything. And That's All We Know About It.

Remorse Is Cureless--the Disease Not Even God--can Heal-- For 'tis His Institution--and The Adequate Of Hell

His Cheek Is His Biographer- As Long As He Can Blush.

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die. Beauty, Mercy Have On Me! Yet If I Expire To-day Let It Be In Sight Of Thee!

To Die Before One Fears To Die May Be A Boon.

The Only Secret People Keep Is Immortality.

The Soul Unto Itself Is An Imperial Friend, - Or The Most Agonizing Spy - An Enemy - Could Send -

How Odd That Girl's Life Looks Behind This Soft Eclipse! I Think That Earth Seems So To Those In Heaven Now. This Being Comfort, Then That Other Kind Was Pain; But Why Compare? I'm Wife! Stop There!

Tell All The Truth But Tell It Slant-- Success In Circuit Lies Too Bright For Our Infirm Delight The Truth's Superb Surprise As Lightning To The Children Eased With Explanation Kind The Truth Must Dazzle Gradually Or Every Man Be Blind--

Congratulations

Behavior Is What A Man Does, Not What He Thinks, Feels, Or Believes.

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

That Love Is All There Is, Is All We Know Of Love.

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?

I Do Not Know The Man So Bold He Dare In Lonely Place That Awful Stranger Consciousness Deliberately Face-.

Forever Is Composed Of Nows.

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 --

The Only Commandment I Ever Obeyed — 'consider The Lilies.

A Word That Breathes Distinctly Has Not The Power To Die

I Imagine Therefore I Belong And Am Free.

I Dwell In Possibilities .

A Clock Stopped-- Not The Mantel's-- Geneva's Farthest Skill Can't Put The Puppet Bowing-- That Just Now Dangled Still

Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A Shifting Plate.

This Is The Hour Of Lead- Remembered, If Outlived, As Freezing Persons, Recollect The Snow- First-chill-then Stupor- Then The Letting Go---

Narcotics Cannot Still The Tooth. That Nibbles At The Soul

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.

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