Emily Dickinson Quotes
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Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn; Men eat of it and die.
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
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Fortune befriends the bold.
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If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves. You can gain more control over your life by paying closer attention to the little things.
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -The Stillness in the RoomWas like the Stillness in the Air -Between the Heaves of Storm -
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The face we choose to miss, Be it but for a day- As absent as a hundred years When it has rode away.
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I reason, earth is short, And anguish absolute. And many hurt; But what of that?I reason, we could die: The best vitality Cannot excel decay; But what of that?I reason that in heaven Somehow, it will be even, Some new equation given; But what of that?
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Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.
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Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term.Our pace took sudden awe, Our feet reluctant led. Before were cities, but between, The forest of the dead.Retreat was out of hope,- Behind, a sealed route, Eternity’s white flag before, And God at every gate.
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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!
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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
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Prayer is the little implement through which men reach; where presence is denied them.
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The sweets of Pillage can be known To no one but the Thief, Compassion for Integrity Is his divinest Grief.
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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What fortitude the Soul contains, That it can so endure The accent of a coming Foot- The opening of a Door.
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A Vastness, as a Neighbor, came,A Wisdom, without Face, or Name,A Peace, as Hemispheres at HomeAnd so the Night became.
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The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.
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We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.
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It ’s such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh; And yet by trades the size of these We men and women die!
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To possess is past the instant; we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.