Emily Dickinson Quotes
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Hope is a thing with feathers.
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To be alive is power; existence in itself; without a further function; omnipotence.
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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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And you dropt, lost, When something broke-- And let you from a Dream
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Afraid? Of whom am I afraid? Not death. For who is he?
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To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I They may take the trifle Termed mortality!
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Each that we lose takes a part of us; A crescent still abides, Which like the moon, some turbid night, Is summoned by the tides.
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The brain is wider than the sky, For, put them side by side, The one the other will include With ease, and you beside.
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We must be careful what we say. No bird resumes its egg.
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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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I like a look of Agony, because I know it's true - men do not sham Convulsion, nor simulate, a Throe
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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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Till I loved I never lived.
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I work to drive the awe away, yet awe impels the work.
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She rose to his requirement, dropped The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.
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Expectation is contentment - Gain satiety.
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The hearts that never lean must fall.
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To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
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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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But a Book is only the Heart's Portrait- every Page a Pulse.
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Vinnie rocks her Garden and moans that God won't help her. I suppose he is too busy getting angry with the Wicked every day.
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Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
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Until you have loved, you cannot become yourself.
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I do not know the man so bold He dare in lonely Place That awful stranger Consciousness Deliberately face-.