Emily Dickinson Quotes
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We dream — it is good we are dreaming — It would hurt us — were we awake — But since it is playing — kill us, And we are playing — shriek — What harm? Men die — externally — It is a truth — of Blood — But we — are dying in Drama — And Drama — is never dead — Cautious — We jar each other — And either — open the eyes — Lest the Phantasm — prove the Mistake — And the livid Surprise Cool us to Shafts of Granite — With just an Age — and Name — And perhaps a phrase in Egyptian — It's prudenter — to dream —
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Portrait The world spreads out on either side no farther than the heart is wide.
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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 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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Longing, it may be, is the gift no other gift supplies.
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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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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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To die before one fears to die may be a boon.
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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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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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The Truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.
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Forever - is composed of Nows - 'Tis not a different time... Let Months dissolve in further Months - And Years - exhale in Years.
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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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It sounded as if the streets were running, And then the streets stood still.
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If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
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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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Open your life wide, and take me in forever. I will never be tired-I will never be noisy when you want to be still...nobody else will see me, but you-but that is enough-I shall not want any more.
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The sailor cannot see the north / but knows the needle can.
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That no Flake of snow fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.
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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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Not if Their Party were waiting, Not if to talk with Me Were to Them now, Homesickness After Eternity.
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The hearts that never lean must fall.
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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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Publication - is the auction of the mind.