Where thou art, that is home.
Category Archive: Emily Dickinson
Sisters are brittle things. God was penurious with me, which makes me shrewd with Him. One is a dainty sum! One bird, one cage, one flight; one song in those far woods, as yet suspected by faith only!
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.
Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.
There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
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’m nobody, who are you?
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
I dwell in possibility.