Emily Dickinson Quotes
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Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
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When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth "for His mercy endureth forever," with confiding revulsion.
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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I see thee better in the dark I do not need a light.
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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious.
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There's a certain Slant of light, Winter afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are.... When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death.
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Faith-is the pierless bridge supporting what We see unto the scene that we do not.
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Superiority to Fate Is difficult to gain 'Tis not conferred of Any But possible to earn.
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I don't profess to be profound; but I do lay claim to common sense.
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One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.
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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—
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Bless God, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast; Grant, God, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest.Please God, might I behold him In epauletted white, I should not fear the foe then, I should not fear the fight.
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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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New feet within my garden go, New fingers stir the sod; A troubadour upon the elm Betrays the solitude.New children play upon the green, New weary sleep below; And still the pensive spring returns, And still the punctual snow!
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After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.
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God is sitting here, looking into my very soul to see if I think right thoughts. Yet I am not afraid, for I try to be right and good; and He knows every one of my struggles.
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To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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Nature, like us is sometimes caught without her diadem.
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They might not need me; but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight; a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
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We trust in plumed procession For such the angels go Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.
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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.