Emily Dickinson Quotes
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To see her is a picture- To hear her is a tune- To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June- To know her not-Affliction- To own her for a Friend A warmth as near as if the the Sun Were shining in your Hand.
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Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.
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Behold this little Bane – The Boon of all alive – As common as it is unknown The name of it is Love.
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Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.
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Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. The Soul cannot be rid - as easy the secreting her behind the Eyes of God.
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That short, potential stir That each can make but once, That bustle so illustrious Tis almost consequence, Is the eclat of death.
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The sailor cannot see the north / but knows the needle can.
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But a Book is only the Heart's Portrait- every Page a Pulse.
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Answer July- Where is the Bee- Where is the Blush- Where is the Hay? Ah, said July- Where is the Seed- Where is the Bud- Where is the May- Answer Thee-Me-
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Remorse is cureless--the Disease Not even God--can heal-- For 'tis His institution--and The Adequate of Hell
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My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -In Corners - till a DayThe 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 -
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You remember my ideal cat has always a huge rat in its mouth, just going out of sight - though going out of sight in itself has a peculiar pleasure.
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Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the culprit,-Life!
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I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the wren; and my hair is bold, like the chestnut bur; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass, that the guest leaves.
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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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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... I have no letter from the dead, yet daily love them more.
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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf.
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The Past is such a curious Creature To look her in the Face A Transport may receipt us Or a Disgrace-.
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I know some lonely houses off the road A robber'd like the look of,-- Wooden barred, And windows hanging low
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To die before one fears to die may be a boon.
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Portrait The world spreads out on either side no farther than the heart is wide.
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I took one Draught of Life -I'll tell you what I paid -Precisely an existence -The market price, they said.
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It sounded as if the streets were running, And then the streets stood still.