Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.

There's a certain slant of light, on winter afternoons, that oppresses, like the weight of cathedral tunes.

Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.

We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.

You think my gait 'spasmodic' - I am in danger - Sir - You think me 'uncontrolled' - I have no Tribunal.

Look back on Time, with kindly eyes - He doubtless did his best - How softly sinks that trembling sun in Human Nature's West -

My friends are my "estate." Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them.

Pardon my sanity in a world insane.

That I shall love always, I argue thee that love is life, and life hath immortality.

The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.

These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.

To be alive is Power Existence in itself Without a further function Omnipotence enough.

We never know how high we are till we are called to rise; and then, if we are true to plan, our statures touch the skies. The heroism we recite would be a daily thing, did not ourselves the cubits warp for fear to be a king.

Love — is anterior to Life — Posterior — to Death — Initial of Creation, and the Exponent of Earth.

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.

Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell.

That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.

The soul selects her own society, then shuts the door; on her divine majority obtrude no more.

They are loved, you cannot die, for love is immortality.

To be alive──is Power.

We outgrow love like other things and put it in a drawer, till it an antique fashion shows like costumes grandsires wore.

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.

My life had stood--a Loaded Gun-- In Corners--till a Day The Owner passed--identified-- And carried Me away-- And now We roam in Sovereign Woods-- And now We hunt the Doe-- And every time I speak for Him-- The Mountains straight reply-- And do I smile, such cordial light Upon the Valley glow-- It is as a Vesuvian face Had let its pleasure through-- And when at Night--Our good Day done-- I guard My Master's Head-- 'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's Deep Pillow--to have shared-- To foe of His--I'm deadly foe-- None stir the second time-- On whom I lay a Yellow Eye-- Or an emphatic Thumb-- Though I than He--may longer live He longer must--than I-- For I have but the power to kill, Without--the power to die.

People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.

That Love is all there is all we know of Love, it is enough, the freight should be proportioned to the groove.