Emily Dickinson Quotes
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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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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious.
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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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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 fight aloud is very brave, but gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom, the Cavalry of Woe.
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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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Best Witchcraft is Geometry To the magician's mind - His ordinary acts are feats To thinking of mankind.
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Pain - has an Element of Blank It cannot recollect When it begun - or if there were a time when it was not - It has no Future - but itself - Its Infinite contain Its Past - enlightened to perceive New Periods - of Pain.
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Love - thou art Veiled - A few - behold thee - Smile - and alter - and prattle - and die - Bliss - were an Oddity - without thee - Nicknamed by God - Eternity -
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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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They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.
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As Summer into Autumn slips And yet we sooner say "The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest We turn the sun away, And almost count it an Affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved - So we evade the charge of Years On one attempting shy The Circumvention of the Shaft Of Life's Declivity.
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The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
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Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
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All things do go a-courting, In earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single But thee in His world so fair.
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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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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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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The dandelion's pallid tube Astonishes the grass, And winter instantly becomes An infinite alas.
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There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.
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A Dominie in Gray-- Put gently up the evening Bars-- And led the flock away
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Expectation is contentment - Gain satiety.
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What shall we do my darling, when trial grows more, and more, when the dim, lone light expires, and it's dark, so very dark, and we wander, and know not where, and cannot get out of the forest - whose is the hand to help us, and to lead, and forever guide us? ... Where do you think I've strayed and from what new errand returned. I have come from to and fro, and walking up and down the same place that Satan hailed from when God asked where he'd been.
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The hearts that never lean must fall.