Emily Dickinson Quotes
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Faith—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not— Too slender for the eye It bears the Soul as bold As it were rocked in Steel With Arms of Steel at either side— It joins—behind the Veil To what, could We presume The Bridge would cease to be To Our far, vacillating Feet A first Necessity.
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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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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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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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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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Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.
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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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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 truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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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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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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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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This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me - The simple News that Nature told - With tender MajestyHer Message is committed To Hands I cannot see - For love of Her - Sweet - countrymen - Judge tenderly - of Me
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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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In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.
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Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie, The Day that a companion came- Or was obliged to die.
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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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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 dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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Prayer is the little implement through which men reach; where presence is denied them.